


Strip Bare the Truth

by HidingintheInkwell



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Cath knows what's going on, Everyone else is the same, Happy Ending, Insecure Grissom, M/M, Misunderstandings, Nick helps solve crimes, Nick is a Stripper
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:33:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 39,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23412403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HidingintheInkwell/pseuds/HidingintheInkwell
Summary: “Why tomorrow?” Grissom questioned, confusion coloring his voice. He was met with another smirk. “It’ll give me time to ask my own questions, questions from people no cop stands a chance getting answers from.” He leaned close then, the scent of him filling Grissom’s nose; sweat and leather and something else, something deeper, unidentifiable. “And because maybe tomorrow…” Dallas continued, voice taking on that deep, husky quality it had had before, accent thicker in the hushed words,” I’ll tell you my real name.” With that, he was turning, boots clicking almost soundlessly against the pavement and then he was rounding the corner at the end of the alley and was gone, leaving Grissom standing at the other end, frozen in place with a rather embarrassing problem in his pants.
Relationships: Gil Grissom/Nick Stokes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this has been sitting in my docs for a while just waiting to be posted, and since my Muse has apparently decided to go into quarantine, I figured this would be as good a time as any to share it with the rest of ya'll!

Blue eyes took in the scene clinically, filing away every detail for further scrutiny. Twenty-six year old female, African American, hair teased within an inch of its life. Severe bruising along the left side of her face, broken across the orbital bone. Multiple defensive wounds on the hands and arms, chest riddled with stab wounds. Victim was dressed in what was left of a red leather crop top that showed off her abundant cleavage, black mini skirt hiked up to her hips, fishnet tights torn at the knees and thighs. Possible sexual assault. One foot was bare, the leopard print stiletto lying several feet away and marked by a number, the other still on her foot but the heel broken off. Possible defensive weapon? Or likely just a turned ankle accident. Bloodpool around the body, no drag marks. She was killed where she stood. Maybe a John who wasn’t satisfied with his service? He looked up from where he was crouched next to the dead girl, studying the crowd with the same scrutiny he’d just given her body. Maybe the killer had come back to watch.

Most of the crowd was what he typically expected to see; Lookie Lous and tourists, shop owners and locals, a couple working girls not yet gone in for the night. Even at five AM, the sun was already up and bright, but they felt safe at the moment from solicitation charges. The Cops had bigger things to worry about than a couple girls looking to turn some tricks. Or check out the murder of one of their own. His eyes skimmed the crowd, taking in every face, every body movement. He saw horror and disgust on the faces of some tourists who looked like they probably came from Jersey, fascination and excitement on some twenty-somethings spring breaking from college, boredom and resignation from a few Casino owners and locals who frequented, taking the scene as the old hat it was to them, but as his eyes skimmed over the heads of some tourists from South Asia, he saw him, was captivated by him. 

He was muscular but his build was lean, like he went to the gym but focused more on toning than bulking. His appearance was disheveled, but in a way that looked like it had been done on purpose, dark hair sticking up just slightly, as though he’d run his fingers through it repeatedly. Or someone had done it for him. Faded jeans hung low off his narrow but well defined hips, clinging to them with the aid of a well broken-in leather belt that sported a rather audacious silver buckle. The denim clung to his thighs and outlined an admittedly impressive bulge under the aforementioned fastener. The tanned chest and a well defined six pack were bare under the open plaid shirt, sleeves pushed up to his elbows and showing off the corded muscles of his forearms. A slightly battered cowboy hat dangled from long fingers as he leaned against the corner of one of the buildings, arms crossed in front of him. Liner rimmed eyes seemed to stare right through the melee that separated them and right into Grissom. It almost felt like the handsome young man was studying Grissom just as much as Grissom was studying him. 

He stood at the back of the crowd, watching everything. Just like Grissom had been. There was something about the younger man, the way he leaned so casually against that wall like he hadn’t a care in the world, but he studied the body in the street, studied the CSIs, studied the crowd. The moment he’d turned those indiscernible eyes on Grissom, the senior investigator hadn’t been able to look away. As he watched, the man shifted, hat coming to rest on carelessly styled brown hair and hands shoving into pockets, pushing those hips out a little farther. Grissom pulled his eyes from the sight to see a small, cocky smirk curling one corner of those full dark lips.  _ Was eyeliner the only makeup this young man wore?  _ Grissom couldn’t recall seeing that shade of pink on any other living human.  _ Kiss bitten, _ his brain supplied, and if that didn’t bring inappropriate thoughts to the scientist’s mind… he could swear the cowboy on the corner was reading his mind because that smirk grew, right before a pink tongue slithered out, running over that full bottom lip before disappearing back behind pristine white teeth. This guy wasn’t like the other walkers they came across on The Strip. Most of them were girls who’d come to try and make it big and ended up selling themselves just to pay the rent, others were drug addicts hoping for a sugar daddy to pay their next fix. None of them were known for taking care of themselves. Dentists and doctors meant money. Money they didn’t usually have. Someone took care of this man, and Grissom wasn’t sure why that thought made his blood boil under the surface. 

He was startled out of his daze by a hand coming down on his shoulder, nearly making him jump out of his skin and send him tumbling into the evidence. Catching himself and tearing his gaze away from the object of his stupefaction, he turned to find Catherine watching him, something like disbelief on her face. “Grissom! You okay there?” he nodded, pushing himself to his feet. “Yeah, just thinking. Why? Did you find something?” The blonde woman nodded, still looking incredulous. “Grissom, I called your name  _ five times _ . Warrick might have found our murder weapon.” Nodding in the direction of the younger criminologist, she headed toward him, camera ready in case she saw something else. Grissom watched them go, knowing he needed to go and see what Warrick had found. Before he did, he turned his gaze back to the crowd, searching the tops of heads for the street corner and it’s occupant, but the young man was gone. Like he’d never been there. And Grissom was left standing there, wondering if he’d imagined the gorgeous figure who’d been propping up the wall.

\--------------

The scene had been small, cataloguing and collecting evidence only taking about an hour and then they were on their way back to the lab. Doc would get started on the victim, the evidence would be fielded off to whichever lab rats could do what with it, and Grissom would once again be left to his own devices. Knowing he couldn’t trust his mind to stay focused on the evidence if he went back to his office, he headed down to autopsy to talk to the Doc. He was just getting started, chest cavity opened and waiting, blanket over the young woman’s lower body in some attempt at protecting her long lost modesty. “Whatcha got, Doc?” Grissom asked, donning a smock and coming to stand across the body from the older man. “A surprisingly well taken care of hooker. No signs of drug use, but I sent blood samples to Trace just in case. Fresh manicure and pedicure, but feet are calloused. She’d been doing this a while, maybe decided to treat herself to a nail salon a couple days ago.” He picked up one hand, the nails painted a bright shade of sparkly red, the tips chipped and knuckles torn. “Defensive wounds on her hands and forearms.”

Grissom nodded. “She fought back. Maybe she got a piece of the attacker.” The coroner set the hand back down, shifting the blanket away from the young woman’s stomach. “I’ll know more when I do nail scrapings. She was stabbed in the gut, but the COD was a stab to the heart. Killer got her a total of five times. Someone was angry.” 

“Signs of sexual assault?” The question earned him a look and a raised brow from the coroner, but the man let the question slide, reading what Grissom’s meaning had been. “She had sex before she died, but no signs that it had been forced. Sent those samples to Trace too. I did find something interesting, though. Our dead hooker had given birth, maybe a year ago.”  _ A kid. _ Did the kid still live with her? Was there a child waiting somewhere for their mom to come home? Pregnancies among prostitutes wasn’t nearly as common as one would think, but it did happen. John pays a little extra to go bare, or they get a little friendly when he promises to take her away from that life, only for him to go back home to his wife and kids and she’s left with his bun in the oven. “When we get her prints back from AFIS I’ll have someone run a check and see if she gave the kid up or kept them. Thanks, Doc. Let me know if you find anything else!” With that he was on his way out of autopsy. He’d swing by prints, see if Mandy found them a name to put with the young woman. Then he’d head back home and wait for night to roll around. If he could find that young man again, maybe he could hurry along some of their answers. 

Mandy had nothing. The woman’s prints weren’t in the system, which meant she’d never been picked up. Her feet said she’d been doing this for a while, but she was obviously careful about where she lingered. Unfortunately, that also meant they were still clueless to her identity, and it was unlikely missing persons would give them anything because women of her line of work rarely got reported. It was a tragic fact of life, one Grissom often wished wasn’t true every time they got a call and it was a young woman barely out of her twenties who’d had a bad run in with her John. Thanking the young technician, he turned and went back to his office with a sigh. Nothing more to be done, he packed up some paperwork and some evidence photos and headed back to his town house.

  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Night had fallen, and as the moon rose up above the Vegas lights, it brought with it the surge of night life. Grissom went to the lab first, clocking in and informing Catherine that he was going to go back out to the crime scene to talk to the women who worked The Strip, see if anyone knew the identity of their victim. His announcement earned him a knowing look from the blonde woman, a look Grissom ignored in favor of grabbing the photo David had taken of their vic for the file and his coat, pocketing his keys and was back out to his car in under thirty minutes. He drove slow, taking his time once he got to The Strip and found a place to park. What was he doing? He couldn’t even be sure the man was  _ real _ , let alone back on the street. He could have just been a local on his way back from a party, or one of those Dancers Bachelorettes requested for their wedding showers.  _ You’re here to find the identity of a victim, and to bring closure to her family. You’re here to do your job. If you just happen to run into Sex on Legs then so be it. _ Grissom felt his brows shoot to his hairline and was grateful no one was around to see the blush that colored his cheeks lightly. Sex on Legs? Where had  _ that  _ come from?

By then he’d arrived at the parking garage of one of the casinos, his CSI parking permit getting him a spot for free and he was pulling in his coat and tucking the photo into the pocket, ready to put on his Criminologist Persona and do his job. There was the possibility of a little kid out there wondering where their mother was, and Catherine would never forgive him if he didn’t get any answers. 

He stopped every girl he passed who’d talk to him, recognizing some from the crowd at the crime scene and others just from various jobs around the main hub, but none could give him a name to put with the face. He learned that her street name was Jade Leopard, likely after the leopard print stilettos she wore, but no one could give him her real name. A petite Asian woman in a sparkly purple bra and matching miniskirt, hair teased into a shimada and more makeup on her face than Grissom had seen on some stage actors, had been able to point him to where Jade usually worked, offering him a turn in the sack if he wanted to mix a little business with pleasure. She called herself Chyna Doll and told him to ask for her if he ever wanted to take her up on the offer he’d refused, saying he was only here to find the poor woman’s identity. He continued on, stopping a few more girls and shop owners who were still open for the late night business, asking anyone if they knew the real identity of Jade Leopard. No one did. 

He followed Chyna’s directions to where she said Jade frequented, not really surprised to find it was so close to where they’d found her body. It was starting to look more and more like a crime of passion. Maybe a repeat client got jealous of seeing her with others? Decided on one last visit and then made sure that if he couldn’t have her no one could? He leaned against the corner, exactly where the young man had stood that morning, and looked around; taking in the spot they’d found her, blood long since cleaned away, the surrounding buildings, the alley behind him. He had to admit, it was probably considered prime real estate in prostitute lingo. It was situated between a club and one of the smaller, seedier casinos that was usually frequented by druggies and dealers and gangs, and happened to back up to a street that contained a little roach coach motel and another couple bars, and a laundromat that was also known for its less than legitimate business. Plenty of places to duck into should a cop come by, and perfect vantage point for the Johns just coming in for the night, and those who’ve seen their fill and were looking for a little something different. 

He’d asked a little about the man, too. Just mentioning him when his questions about Jade’s real identity turned up nothing. None of the girls he talked to could recall seeing a cowboy walking The Strip, and from the description he managed to give, there was no way they’d have forgotten if they had seen him. One of them suggested he check out some of the clubs, maybe he worked in one of them, but Grissom couldn’t rationalize it to himself if it didn’t have to do with the case. The last thing he wanted was someone checking the cameras at random, finding him in a strip club when he was supposed to be working a case. Ecklie would have his ass, just like he’d almost had Warrick’s when Sara had gone to him without all the facts. The young woman had been concerned, but she’d also been wanting to impress Grissom, and Grissom wasn’t one who liked people  _ trying  _ to impress him. He liked to be pleasantly surprised. And besides, Warrick had come to him almost immediately after it had happened and explained, and that’s all that had mattered. 

Grissom was lost in thought, staring out through the crowd and trying to replay the poor woman’s last moments, hoping to gleen a clue about who’d done this to her. He was so focused, that he didn’t even realize he had company until a sultry voice was sending the hairs at the back of his neck on end. “I hear you’ve been asking about me and Jade,” the voice said, Texas accent thick and heavy, sending a shiver down the criminalist’s spine. Pushing off the wall, he turned to see the man who’d stolen his attention at the crime scene standing mere feet away. If it was possible, he was even more handsome up close. His piercing, black lined eyes were a deep chocolate brown, squared jaw highlighting his cheekbones before sliding down into the slender column of his neck. He was dressed similarly to what he had been the other day, only this time the jeans were darker washed with ripped holes as far up as the waistband and his shirt was a deep shade of green that paired well with his tan and brought out the flecks of gold in his eyes. There was a sheen to his bare skin that suggested baby oil was probably involved, and was that…  _ glitter dust _ across his abs? The cowboy hat was back on his head, pulled low and casting his face into partial shadow, but not obscuring the fine details of his features. 

Realizing he was staring, Grissom tried to speak, but his throat had spontaneously gone dry, leaving him gaping slightly, not unlike a fish. The young man just watched, smirk curling his lips like he knew exactly what reaction the older man was having to his appearance. Of course he knew, he probably had women and men alike throwing themselves at him, begging for the chance to get him in their cars so he could show them a thing or two. It was the thought of others putting their hands on the young man, having him fill their every pleasure, that had Grissom finally managing to snap himself out of his trance. “Yes, actually,” he started, clearing his throat when his voice threatened to catch and crack. “I’m Dr. Gil Grissom from the Las Vegas Crime lab. Do you know this woman?” he pulled the now slightly crumpled photo from his pocket and handed it over, careful to not let his hand touch the Texan’s. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to control himself if he did. 

Dark eyes studied the photo, revealing nothing. A hand came up and tipped the hat back a little, revealing more of those structured features to the glowing neons and streetlights. After a long moment, the man met Grissom’s inquisitive, studying gaze, handing back over the photo with a flash of sorrow skittering across his striking features before quickly being replaced with a cocky grin. Something about it told Grissom this was likely the smile that landed him most of his clientele. “Something tells me you’re not looking for her street name, are you.” When Grissom’s only answer was a raised brow and a purse of the lips, the smirk grew. “Her name is Imani Howard, and she’s not a walker, she’s a dancer. She works at the Neon High club up near Sahara Avenue. She’d just gotten off work and was heading home when she was killed.”

Grissom pulled out a pad and quickly jotted down this new information. They now had a name and a job to put with the previously Jane Doe. “Did you see what happened?” The younger man shook his head. “No, she stopped by to say goodnight, but then the next thing I know there’s screaming, and when I get there, she’s dead.”

“Did you touch the body?” The question was met with a snort and an almost condescending look. “No, I didn’t touch her. I wanted to, I wanted to check and make sure she was okay, but I know better than to compromise a crime scene. And before you think it was me, I was working, and I was the one who called 911.” The scientist nodded, jotting down another note to get the call record from dispatch later. “And where is it exactly that you work?” The younger man cocked an eyebrow and gave him a suggestive look that made Grissom’s mouth go dry. “Well, hell, Dr. Grissom. If you wanted a private show, all you had to do was ask…” The Texas drawl came out thick and slow, like honey fresh from the hive, and the younger man took a step forward, causing Grissom to have to step back to avoid a collision, though a part of his brain screamed at him to reach out and touch, see if the skin that covered those abs really was as smooth and toned as it looked. He met those chocolate brown eyes, startled to see them studying him, like a predator studying his prey. “I need to verify your alibi. Just standard procedure, Mr…” 

“You can call me Dallas, Dr. Grissom, and for… verification purposes… I work at Inamorato, a block and a half north of here.” Tearing his gaze away from the eyes that had seemed to capture him in their depths, he quickly jotted down the place and the name. He knew of Inamoratos by reputation. It was a strip club specializing in male dancers. “Our coroner discovered that Imani had given birth about a year ago. Would you happen to know anything about that?” Dallas nodded, another flash of sorrow crossing his features. “Yeah, kid’s name is Jamal. He lives with her sister out in Henderson. No father in the picture. I’ll save you the search, though. Her sister’s name is Trish Watkins, and she’s the one with custody of Jamal. Imani didn’t want him growing up knowing his mother was a stripper, so after he was born she gave custody over to Trish, and decided she’d be known as Aunt Mani who worked in a casino in Las Vegas and came to visit as often as she could.”

Grissom was still jotting down the information so he could pass it on when he got back to the lab when a hand on his waist set his skin on fire. “Is that all you’ll be needin’, doc?” a husky voice whispered in his ear, sending a shiver he was unable to repress bolting down his spine. The rational part of his brain screamed at him to back away, to remain professional because he was here on a case, but the rest of his brain was urging him to lean closer, to accept what was being offered.  _ You want him, you know you do! Take what’s being offered! You deserve it! _

_ Who are you kidding? He's working. This is what he does. You’d be nothing more to him than another client, are you really willing to give it all up for him?  _ Even as the thoughts made him ache inside, he knew they were right. This young man, Dallas, was a working man. Grissom meant nothing more to him than a little paid pleasure. Swallowing hard, he took a step back away from the heat of the younger man’s body, pulling on his professional mask before meeting those deep brown eyes. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be in touch if there are any further questions.” If the abruptness of Grissom’s words caught the man off guard, he didn’t show it. Instead he tilted back on his heels, hands shoved in his pockets while he studied the entomologist. Grissom’s eyes unwittingly flickered down to where the V of sharp hip bones disappeared into the waistband of those worn denim jeans before he caught himself and returned his gaze to a face that now bore a knowing smirk. “If you want to know more about Imani, come back tomorrow.”

“Why tomorrow?” Grissom questioned, confusion coloring his voice. He was met with another smirk. “It’ll give me time to ask my own questions, questions from people no cop stands a chance getting answers from.” He leaned close then, the scent of him filling Grissom’s nose; sweat and leather and something else, something deeper, unidentifiable. “And because maybe tomorrow…” Dallas continued, voice taking on that deep, husky quality it had had before, accent thicker in the hushed words,” I’ll tell you my real name.” With that, he was turning, boots clicking almost soundlessly against the pavement and then he was rounding the corner at the end of the alley and was gone, leaving Grissom standing at the other end, frozen in place with a rather embarrassing problem in his pants.

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

Imani Howard, age 26. Sister Trish had been contacted and would be coming in from Henderson in a few days to claim the body for burial. It had been nearly the end of his shift when he’d finally made it back to the lab after his conversation with Dallas. Much to his chagrin, he’d had to make a detour back to his townhouse to take care of the problem the male dancer had left him with, and had discovered a business card tucked into the pocket of his coat. When the younger man had done that, and how he’d managed without Grissom noticing were complete mysteries. On one side DALLAS was written in deep gold ink, the other side bearing the Inamorato logo and address. Grissom tucked it into an extra evidence bag just in case before hopping through the shower. 

When he’d gotten back, he’d left the card in his office to dust later, not wanting to see the curious looks Mandy would surely give him if he dropped it off to her right away. Besides, she was busy running some prints through the systems. There had been prints all over the knife used to stab the young woman, most smudged but she was sure she’d be able to piece something together, and there had been a partial on the victim’s wrist. Dallas had said he’d found the victim, but hadn’t touched her. Mandy was running the partial in hopes that it might lead them to their killer. Grissom feared it would lead them back to Dallas. He sent the familial information on to Brass and closed himself away in his office, a part of him hoping Catherine was otherwise occupied and wouldn’t come questioning him about his time on the Strip. He pulled on a pair of gloves, grabbed up his tweezers, and carefully pulled the card out of it’s protective bag. Laying it out on a tray he’d snagged from Greg’s lab, he pulled out his print kit and started dusting the card.

\--------------

“Mandy, do you have any results from those fingerprints collected?” The petite brunette looked up when her supervisor walked in, giving him one of her trademark impassive looks. “Sorry, Grissom, nothing yet. Most of those prints on the knife were pretty old or smudged. I’m still working on piecing them back together.” Grissom nodded, peering over her shoulder and at the computer screen, prints flickering across one half while the other held the scanned and magnified version of the original, its print pattern smudged in every direction. “What about that partial lifted off the body?” Another shake of the head. “Sorry, no. I’m not even sure if there was enough of it to make a match without something to compare it to.” Surprise colored her face when Grissom pulled a plastic sheet out of his pocket, a perfect fingerprint marked out in black marking dust sandwiched between the plastic and the white paper at it’s back. “Run it against this, will you? See if it’s a match?”

The young lab tech’s eyes widened as she took it from him, rolling her chair over to the scanner. “Where did you find this?” she asked, casting him a glance over her shoulder, screen loading the new fingerprint. “Possible new piece of evidence,” was his only reply, eyes glued to the screen. Markers danced across the green lines, trying to find some point of identical contact between them. Two minutes later, a definitive NO MATCH blinked red in the upper corner of the screen, and Grissom felt a part of himself relax slightly. Dallas had been telling the truth, he hadn’t touched the body.  _ That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill her,  _ a voice that sounded suspiciously like Conrad whispered in the back of his mind, but he forcefully shoved it away. He’d verify the man’s alibi when he went back tonight, and right now there was no evidence he had been the killer. Thanking Mandy, he made his way back to DNA to see if Greg had gotten anything from some samples they’d found under Imani’s manicured nails. 

Music could be heard blaring from down the hall, causing Grissom to roll his eyes. He’d never understood the young lab tech’s obsession with loud music, being more a classical man himself, but as long as he got his work done, Grissom couldn’t care less what he used to help himself concentrate. Within reason, that was. The young man in question was leaned over one of the monitors, jamming out to whatever lyrics he could make out through the incessant screaming that was all Grissom was able to hear. He hit the pause button quickly, drawing the tech’s attention. “Please tell me you have something for me, Greg,” Grissom said, crossing his arms in front of him. Greg grinned. “As a matter of fact, I do.” Reaching over to the printer, he pulled out the results page and handed it over. “One distinct sample under her nails, male epithelials. Also, the vaginal swab from the doc came back positive for spermicide. Dude wore a condom.” 

_ Not surprising, probably didn’t want to risk catching something by sleeping with a prostitute. No, not prostitute, dancer.  _ Grissom made a mental note to check out the Neon High club the next evening as well. “Alright, thanks Greg. I’ll let you know when we have something to compare that DNA to.” Offering the young man a clap on the shoulder, Grissom turned and left, suppressing a yawn as he checked his watch. Nearly six, night shift was almost over. He could feel sleep calling him, but even more, he could feel the pit of his stomach tightening in anticipation at seeing Dallas again, at the promise of learning the young man’s real name. 

**\-----**

Against the wishes of that tiny little voice in the back of his mind, he brought Catherine along when going to check out Neon High. Sara had been openly vocal about how he should bring her along, but Grissom had only responded that Catherine’s expertise in the field would be helpful. He knew the young woman was only looking for an excuse to be close to him, make sure he wasn’t “checking out” any of the dancers.  _ If she only knew… _ They left the lab around midnight, having had to take care of some paperwork and sending Warrick off to take care of a scene that had just come in. With Sara’s eyes boring into his back, he followed the blonde woman out to the Tahoe, sliding behind the wheel and pointing them in the direction of the strip club.

Neon High was in full swing, living up to its name as the whole place was lit in black light, guests having been given ultraviolet stamps upon admission. A young woman who the announcer had introduced as “Ginger Snap” was currently up on stage in an ultraviolet orange outfit, her face done with more glowing makeup and her auburn hair teased into pigtails as she swung around a pole in the middle of the stage to the tune of “Fire and Ice”. Sharing a look with Catherine, they pushed their way toward the bar, asking the young man behind it if he could get the manager. While they waited, they watched the crowd. “You know, Lindsey went to a birthday party a couple years back, it was a skating rink and the girl’s parents made sure all invitations had instructions to wear white shirts and light colored pants. Turned out to be a neon party, and Lindsey came home covered in highlighter because the girl’s older sister had discovered that highlighter glows under blacklight.” Catherine threw him a grin, nodding in the direction of a dancer dressed completely in hazard vest yellow, eye makeup and lipstick included. Grissom had to admit she did resemble the aforementioned writing tool. A moment later the manager was walking up. 

“CSI? What can I help you folks with?” The manager was a stout, prematurely balding man with half moon glasses and was dressed completely in black, save for the large, multi colored triangles that decorated his tie. Catherine held up the photo of Imani. “Do you recognize this woman? We believe she dances here at your club.” The man took the photo, studying it under the white backlight of the bar. Better to help the tenders prep drinks that way, Grissom figured. “Holy… That’s Jade. She’s a real crowd favorite, they love the whole “African Queen” bit she puts on. I haven’t seen her in a few days. What happened?” Accepting back the photo and tucking it into his pocket, Grissom studied the man, seeing only genuine concern on his features. “She was found murdered the other day. We believe she was heading home from your club. Can you recall the last time you saw her?” Catherine’s voice gave nothing away, and Grissom knew she was studying his reactions too. 

“Yeah, of course. She worked Monday night, but had asked for the next day off. She was going to visit her sister and nephew. The kid was having his first real doctor’s appointment and she wanted to go see him, so I gave her the day. She was supposed to be back tonight, I just assumed maybe she was sick or got waylaid or something.” The man shoved his hands in his pockets with a shrug. “Were you aware she was also in the prostitution business?” Grissom asked, earning a quick look from Catherine but ignored it in favor of keeping his focus on the man in front of them. The club owner only shrugged again. “A lot of my girls do in their spare time. Way to drum up business in the club, ya know? See the girl on the street for a good time, come in and catch a show. I knew she was trying to get away from it though; said dancing got her enough looks without johns picking her up off the street.” He leaned forward a little, almost conspiratorially before continuing. “Between you and me, I think it had something to do with the kid. Maybe she didn’t want him knowing his aunt turned tricks in the streets as well as on the poles.”

Grissom nodded, jotting the new information down in his notepad. “You wouldn’t happen to know of any customers who seemed… particularly interested in her performances?” The shorter man thought for a minute, finger tapping absentmindedly against his goatee. Behind them, Ginger Snap was finishing her performance, a loud cheer erupting from the crowd as she struck a pose and left the stage, neon orange top left hanging from the pole. “Yeah, now that you mention it… Ryan,” he turned to address the bartender. “Go pull me up that still from Friday’s show. You remember the one.” The young man nodded, disappearing through the black door behind the bar. The owner addressed the two CSIs again. “There’s one guy, always here for Jade’s shows. Good tipper, bit handsy. Always asks for a private dance after she finishes on the stage. Britain could tell you more about him, though.” By that point the bartender was back, and Grissom and Catherine were being handed a 9x12 still. It showed their victim on stage hanging off the pole in mid swing. She was dressed in a skimpy black one piece with horizontal slits across the ribs and fishnet tights. The body of the one piece was covered in glowing yellow leopard spots, as was one leg from knee to thigh and the other from ankle and knee. Her hair was teased and pulled into a high ponytail, and she wore familiar leopard stilettos that glowed under the lights. Her eye makeup and lipstick glowed green and there was an almost fierce look on her face.  _ African Queen indeed _ . 

A thick finger crossed the picture to point at a man standing on the opposite side facing the camera. “That’s him. Don’t have a name for you, he pays admission and drinks in cash. Like I said, though, Britain could tell you more. She should be free, I’ll find her and send her over.” With that, the owner was vanishing behind the backstage door. Grissom took a moment to study the man in the photo. Quality was surprisingly good, must have been taken from one of the cameras he’d seen that filmed the dancers. The man question was caucasian, looked to be in his mid-forties with dark hair and a moustache. The way he was staring at Imani sent a shiver down Grissom’s spine, even through a photograph. He could only imagine how the woman must have felt. “Ugh. He’s a creepy looking dude, isn’t he?” Catherine asked rhetorically. The entomologist could only nod in agreement. 

“Britain can meet you in private booth 4. Straight down the hall and to the left, can’t miss it.” The owner had made a reappearance, pointing the CSIs in the direction of the private booths and rooms, usually reserved for customers who were willing to pay a little more to get some alone time with the dancer they just saw. Nodding their thanks, the two turned and began maneuvering their way through the crowd. The noise seemed to dim around them as they entered the darkly lit hallway that held the private rooms. 

Number four was situated nearly at the end on the left hand side, thick red curtain blocking the interior from view. Britain was already in there waiting on them. She wore a union jack mini skirt and silver bra, her teased platinum blonde hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Her lips were done bright red, and her top lids were blue with white streaking the tops of her cheekbones. She was sitting on the bench, one white pleather knee high boot crossed over the other, bobbing anxiously. “Marty says you’re from the PD?” she asks, a slight British accent coloring her voice. “He says you want to talk to me about Jade.” Catherine nods as Grissom lets the curtain fall shut behind them, thick material deadening the noise of the club. “That’s right, we were wondering what you could tell us about this man,” the older blonde held out the photo. “Your boss tells us he was a frequent visitor of Jade’s, and that maybe you could tell us about him.” 

Britain studies the photo, upper lip curling in veiled disgust. “Yeah. Don’t know his name, Jade usually calls him Handyman because he can’t seem to grasp the “look but don’t touch” rule. He's here nearly every other night, always asking for a lap dance on Fridays. He’s a good tipper, but Jade says…  _ said  _ he made her nervous, always asking personal questions and such.” 

“Personal questions like what?” Grissom asked, propping himself against the wall and jotting down everything the young woman was saying. She shrugged. “Stuff like what her favorite color was, or if she had any kids, stuff you don’t normally ask girls like us. It was all just really creepy, and what made it worse was the dude was married. Jade told me about the wedding band the first day he stuck a wad in her string and tried to cop a feel at the same time. The only reason she didn’t have Marty throw him out was the cash was good.” Catherine nodded in understanding, sharing a glance with Grissom before thanking the young dancer. “Thanks, you’ve been a big help. If you remember anything else about this guy, give us a call, alright?” She pulled one of Grissom’s business cards from his pocket and handed it over, the dancer taking it and sticking it into her boot. “I hope you figure out who did this to Jade. I can’t imagine why anyone would want to hurt her.” Grissom offered her what he hoped was a sympathetic smile. “We’ll do our best, I promise.” With a final nod, Britain was pushing past the curtain, leaving the criminologists alone in the stuffy room.

“Well that was much more informative than I was expecting,” Catherine said, breaking the silence that had fallen with the young blonde’s departure. Grissom nodded, tucking the photo into his pocket with the one if Imani. “We have a face now, that’s something. Before we head back to the lab, though, there’s one more stop I want to make. It may be able to give us a little more to work with.” One of Catherine’s shapely eyebrows reached for her bangs, but she didn’t comment, simply following him back out through the club and into the warm night air.

  
  



	4. Chapter 4

They walked about a block and a half, passing casinos echoing with the ringing of machines, bars letting their lights and the sounds of the latest game spill out onto the streets, and clubs where they could feel the pulsing music in their bones even long after they’d left them behind. As they neared the glowing lights and bouncer-barred door of Inamorato, Grissom slowed to a stop, fishing out his ID badge to show the guard. Catherine’s surprise showed on her face as she processed where we were before it was replaced with a funny, unreadable look. Grissom ignores it in favor of stepping into the surprisingly well lit club. It was dark, the walls covered with patterns of dark velvet, but it was lit with both colored and white lights, and multiple spotlights illuminated the stage where a slender African American man wearing a tuxedo collar with bowtie and a black speedo was finishing his performance. Catherine turned to the night shift supervisor, one brow heading toward her bangs. “Grissom… why are we in a male strip club? I mean, not like I’m complaining or anything…” 

Grissom felt a blush creeping up his neck, but before he could reply, the DJ was coming in over the speakers and the man in the bowtie was taking his bows and making his way to the curtain behind, hips swaying deliberately. “Ladies and Gentlemen, let’s hear it one more time for Bryan!” A loud “WOO!” went up accompanied by a few wolf whistles before the DJ continued. “Now, what you’ve all been waiting for, put your hands together for everyone’s favorite… DALLAS!” A roar filled the room as the patrons showed their appreciation for the shadow that appeared behind the curtain, backlit by red white and blue spots. The figure was posed one hand up to the brim of his cowboy hat, the other on his hip with one knee cocked slightly. “Now remember, ladies and gents, as much as you might want to grab a piece of All American Texan, remember the clubhouse rule. You can-not touch!” and with that warning, the curtain flew open and out walked Dallas in a pale blue plaid shirt buttoned save for the top few, sleeves rolled past his elbows and dark wash jeans, an easy grin on his face. Beside him, Catherine’s brows rose in appreciation and she shot Grissom another look before returning her attention to the stage. 

Dallas had stepped up and pulled a mic from his back pocket, surveying the crowd, many of whom were still whistling and cheering. “Now I know Andy over there said the rule of the clubhouse was ‘you do not touch,’ but just between us, I think some rules are meant to  _ bend  _ just a little… Don’t you?” The drawl came out thick and slow, drawing another cheer from the gathered crowd and more than a few overexaggerated fanning motions. “So what do y’all say we get this show started, and I prove things really are bigger in Texas…” Grissom had to fight the urge to cover his ears at the screams that echoed through the space, instead watching as Dallas handed his mic to a stagehand and stepped back toward the middle of the stage, resuming his prior stance as the opening chords of “Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy” rang out through hidden speakers. And then he was moving.

Grissom knew he was staring, but he also knew there was no way he could have looked away. A fight could have broken out right under his nose and his eyes would still have been glued to the young man up on stage. To his relief, a brief glance in her direction showed that Catherine was equally enraptured. Dallas had started out with what looked almost like a traditional line dance with a few ten step moves thrown in before his hands were coming up, slowly pulling the buttons free and revealing a tanned, well defined and hairless chest. He moved to slide the garment off his shoulders but when he got to his elbows he pulled it back up, grinning from under that worn hat at the boos he received. Instead he dropped one hand to hook behind his belt, the other running down his chest slowly, and Grissom felt his breath catch briefly. A lean pelvic thrust forward a few times to the beat before Dallas kicked out with one leg and sliding immediately down to one knee, slowly drawing the belt from his belt loops, innuendo obvious. 

Dallas slid back up to his feet, snapping the belt between his hands before tossing it off to the side, hands returning to the waistband of his pants where he paused, timing it to the silence right before the chorus of the song picked up. He gave the crowd a cocky grin and a raised brow, and the moment the song kicked back into the chorus he was yanking at the jeans, the material flying away to reveal a pair of pale leather chaps, a candy red speedo, and nothing else. The cheer was deafening, and to Grissom it was as if it took all the air from the building with it. He watched as the younger man swung the fabric over his head a few times before sending it flying in the direction of the belt, and then he was making his way down into the crowd. He went first for a rather embarrassed looking young woman sitting at a table up front, the white veil and sash signifying her as a bride-to-be out for her shower with friends, and her expression clearly saying that this had  _ not  _ been her idea. While one woman at the table started shoving singles into Dallas’s chaps, he leaned close to the blushing bride-to-be, one hand braced against the back of her chair, the other switching his hat to her head before picking up a hand and guiding the petite, manicured fingers down his chest. Nearly all the way to the impressive bulge miraculously contained by those skimpy red briefs. 

Grissom felt an irrational pang of jealousy at the sight, but it quickly faded when, as Dallas was leaning close into the young woman’s personal space, he looked up, dark eyes seeming to lock on Grissom’s from across the crowded room. The older man had to swallow back a moan before he embarrassed himself. Logically he knew there was a less than three percent chance of the dancer spotting him among the crowd, but logic was having a hard time getting that message across to the rest of his brain as Dallas grinned wide, winking knowingly before pushing back from the blushing bachelorette and strutting the other direction, this time for a man in a nice dress shirt and tie, drink in one hand and an appraising look on his face, tilting his head back as the younger man came close, hands running through his hair before he was dropping into a squat, one hand bracing himself from behind as he thrust his hips up the businessman’s leg several times before rising back up and leaning close, one hand looping through his tie and pulling him close, intimately so, rippling his upper body almost close enough to touch. One of the businessman’s hands came up to grab onto Dallas’s side, nails leaving small red lines on the firm flesh as he raked his nails up across the younger man’s ribs under the edges of the plaid shirt. Another possessive wave of jealousy crashed through Grissom, even as he realized that Dallas’s eyes were still locked on him.  _ Trying to prove something maybe?  _

Pushing back from the sharply dressed man, Dallas spun back by the bachelorette, reclaiming his hat with a nod and a wink before jumping back up onto the stage for the final verses of the song. As the last chord rang out, a cheer rose up from the surrounding crowd, including--to Grissom’s surprise--Catherine. Dallas offered them all a smile and a tip of his hat before turning and striding back to the curtain, giving the entire audience a view of his tight, red clad hind end and lean, muscular shoulders that rippled as he rolled them, casting the group, and specifically Grissom, one last smirk before vanishing behind the curtain and making room for the next performer. Grissom nearly missed the DJs' next announcement. “Thank you Dallas! I’m sure everyone here will be hopping on the ‘save the horses’ bandwagon from now on, right ladies and gents?” Another loud cheer. “Now please, everyone put your hands together for another crowd favorite, Armani!” The crowd was cheering again, not as loudly or enthusiastically as they had for Dallas, but still cheering nonetheless, but Grissom had tuned them out. The man they’d just been watching was now making his way toward the two CSIs, shirt still unbuttoned but chaps traded for proper jeans, sans belt as they held onto his hips for dear life, showing off no small amount of those hypnotic red briefs. 

His progression through the crowd was slow but determined, patrons stopping him frequently to slip bills and business cards into his pockets, waistband, and hands. When he finally reached the two criminologists, he tilted his hat back off his forehead, offering Grissom an easy smile. “Well, well, doc! Must say I'm a little surprised to see you here. Just couldn’t stay away, could ya? Hope you liked the show.” Dallas gave him another, almost scrutinizing look, setting Grissom’s body on fire. From the corner of his eye, he saw Catherine raise an eyebrow at the familiarity, alternating her inquisitive blue eyes between a furiously blushing Grissom who was trying (and failing) to maintain his composure, and a self-satisfied looking Dallas. “Grissom,” she started, turning her attention to the older man.  _ You are  _ so  _ screwed, Gilbert, _ he thought to himself, giving the strawberry blonde his attention. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?” Her tone of voice appeared light, but the look in her eyes promised an interrogation worthy of a serial killer in his very near future. He cleared his throat. “Ah, yes. Catherine, this is Dallas. Dallas, my partner, CSI Catherine Willows.”

Dark, unreadable brown eyes flickered back and forth between the two, almost as if searching for information. Obviously concluding something, though Grissom wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that decision was, he turned his attention to Catherine, offering her a polite smile and a tip of the hat. “Pleasure to meet you, ma’am. I must say, Doctor Grissom here is lucky to have such a fine desert rose as his partner.” Catherine’s eyebrows shot up in surprise before her face broke out in the widest grin Grissom had seen on her face in a long time. It warmed something deep inside him. “You didn’t tell me he was a charmer, Gil. It’s nice to meet you too, Dallas. I must say we enjoyed the performance tonight.” Her eyes darted in Grissom’s direction as she mentioned the show, drawing Dallas’s attention. The entomologist was sure he was resembling a tomato at this point. “If i’m right in assuming this isn’t just a social call, what can I do for y’all?” Dallas asked, hands shoved into his pockets.

Realizing this was an opportunity for him to collect himself and regain some dignity and composure, Grissom pulled the photo from Neon High out of his jacket and handed it over. “Do you recognize the man in the photo?” he asked, watching the dark haired man study the photo. After a long moment, he looked up, looked around, and then motioned for the two CSIs to follow him. “Come with me, I know somewhere a little more private where we can talk.” Tucking the picture into his pocket, he led the other two down a hall and through a curtained off doorway. For the second time in as many hours the CSIs found themselves in a private show room. Letting the curtain fall behind them, Dallas pulled the photo back out of his pocket. “Is this him?” he asked, pointing to the man in the photo. “Is this the one who killed Imani?” Catherine shook her head, speaking up before Grissom could. “We’re not sure. All we know is what the Neon High club owner could tell us.” The younger man nodded, dark eyes serious as they traveled from Catherine’s face to Grissom’s and then back down to the photo. “I’ve seen him around a few times, usually at Neon watching her dance, but I’ve seen him soliciting her on the streets too. He always seemed harmless enough, tipped well and was friendly, but there was something about him that didn’t sit well with me. Imani felt it too, usually tried to duck away if she saw him on the streets, but he never tried to approach her when she was walking. He’d just kind of follow and watch her.”

Grissom pulled his notepad from his jacket and quickly jotted down the information. “Do you happen to know his name?” he asked. Dallas shook his head. “No, sorry. Imani always called him “Warbucks” as a joke. I don’t think she ever got his real name.” Sadness flickered behind the young man’s eyes as he stared down at the photo.  _ The two of them must have been close,  _ Grissom thought to himself, resisting the urge to reach out and offer him a comforting hand.  _ The line of work they’re in, friendships are what save you.  _ “Promise me you’ll let me know if you find her killer. If it’s this guy.” Dallas’s tone brokered no argument, but Grissom caught the slight waver in his words. “I promise,” he replied, the words forming on his tongue before he even realized how it might sound. Catherine subtly sent him another look, but this time he didn’t even bother trying to decipher it. He knew that look. It was a look he often gave her, or Warrick, or Sara when a case hit too close to home and the grieving families made them promise justice. It was just the first time that look had been applied to  _ him. _

“Thank you for your time, Dallas.” Catherine said, accepting back the photo and offering the dancer a smile. “Grissom, we should be heading back to the lab and get this photo to Recognition.” Grissom nodded, eyes not leaving deep brown ones which, to his relief and mild embarrassment, had regained some of the knowing light they’d had earlier. The corner of his mouth curled up into a smile as he offered his hand to the blonde woman. “Thank you for coming, ma’am. I’m glad the two of you enjoyed the show.” Even though the comment was directed at Catherine, Dallas’s eyes had yet to leave Grissom’s. The older man felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. Catherine accepted the handshake warmly, gaze flickering between the two men as she let the grip drop. “Grissom, I’ll meet you out front.” Smirking, and with Grissom silently cursing and thanking her for leaving him alone, she turned and pushed through the curtain, leaving the two men in the suddenly stifling warmth of the private room. As the curtain fell shut behind his partner’s retreating form, Grissom fully expected Dallas to press forward into his personal space. He was more than a little surprised when the younger man simply tipped back on his heels, pushing the hat up further on his head before shoving his hands in his pockets. 

“You came back,” he said, drawl thick. Grissom swallowed, desperately trying to retain his composure. “You said you could tell me more about Imani.” He was a little surprised when his voice came out steady, and it must have shown because Dallas’s grin widened. “That all, Doc? Sure it wasn’t for the show? Or finding out my name?” Another knowing smirk curled those lips and the CSI found himself having to swallow hard. Taking pity on the poor man, Dallas leaned back, propping his hip against the table and shifting his smile into an easy, friendlier one. “Imani had a great relationship with her sister, the two were like best friends. Her brother-in-law on the other hand, hated Imani, hated what she did, repeatedly called her a slut and a whore in front of her face, even in front of the kid on occasion. Imani was trying to get away from all this. She was just trying to earn up enough to find an apartment near her sister’s place so she could find a real job, maybe go back to school if everything worked out well. She wanted to be a therapist. Last week, she told me she’d gone home to visit, told her sister about what she was trying to do. Trish’s husband Robbie came home, told her a whore was a whore regardless of what mask she put on, and that her being a therapist would just be like her becoming a Madame and running her own prostitution business under the name of Therapy.”

  
Grissom felt his brows shoot for his hairline in shock. Clearly there was no love lost between their victim and her brother-in-law. “Did he ever threaten her with physical violence?” he asked, pulling back out his notebook and flipping to the section he’d mentally reserved for this case. Dallas shook his head. “Nah, never physical. From what I could tell, Robbie was a good husband to Trish, a good dad to Jamal, he just couldn’t stand Imani’s career choice. He’d yell at her, threaten to keep her from being able to see Jamal, but he  _ never  _ threatened her or Trish with physical violence.” The scientist continued to make notes, eyes focusing on the paper in front of him even as he felt Dallas’s eyes on him, studying him. “My name is Nick, by the way.” Grissom looked up in surprise, feeling his vertebrae popping in protest. “Nick,” he repeated, rolling the name on his tongue and testing the feel of it. Dallas--no,  _ Nick _ \-- smiled. “Nick Stokes. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Doctor Grissom.” Pushing off the table, he took a confident step forward and held out a hand. A hand which Grissom took, palms fitting together in a comfortable handshake.  _ Like puzzle pieces _ , he thought absently. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Stokes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last! A name!!!


	5. Chapter 5

Catherine stayed silent for a lot longer than Grissom would have thought she was capable of. They were in his Tahoe and half way back to the crime lab before she started interrogating him. “So…” she started, staring at him with one of those grins that made him simultaneously spill his guts and hide under a rock for the rest of his life. “Dallas seems like a very nice young man. Doesn’t hurt that he’s easy on the eyes either.” Grissom studiously kept his eyes on the road, even as he felt heat crawling its way up his neck. “What are you implying, Catherine?” He spared the woman a quick glance, and immediately wished he hadn’t. The grin on her face could only be described as lecherous, wide and full of a knowing that Grissom wasn’t quite sure  _ he _ wanted to know. “Gilbert Grissom, I had no idea you swung that way! Or any way for that matter! And an All American beefcake like Dallas too…” Grissom could swear Catherine was about ready to cackle with glee, taking some kind of sadistic pleasure in his flaming red embarrassment. 

“It’s not like that, Catherine,” he tried, knowing even as the words were leaving his mouth that they were pointless. Catherine hadn’t made it as far as she had on her looks alone. She was a trained observer, and she’d been in that business. She knew all the signs to look for. Instead of continuing the protest, he just signed. “Not going to happen, Catherine. He’s connected to a case, for all we know he could have done it.”

“Please, we both know that’s not the reason. I saw the way he looked at you back there.”

Coming to a stop at a red light, Grissom turned to the blonde woman. “He’s a worker, Catherine. That’s what he does. He looks at people like that because that’s his job, to excite the neurons in the pleasure centers of their brains so that they’ll let him pleasure them in exchange for money.” The light turned green and they were moving again, the car falling into an awkward silence for a long time. When Grissom finally braved up and cast a glance toward the woman, he saw only pity in her expressive blue eyes. Pity and something else, something like understanding. “Grissom, we both know that’s not what you really think. I’ve had that job, I know the way a prostitute or showgirl looks at a John when all they want is to turn the trick for the cash. Dallas doesn’t look at you that way. I saw his face when we were talking with him. Yes, he was putting on a bit of the act, but he was doing it because he knew it would get a reaction out of you. I think he genuinely finds you attractive, Gil. Social awkwardness and all.”

By that time they’d pulled into the lab parking lot and Grissom was turning off the car, but made no move to climb out. “Why would he be interested in me, Cath?” he asked, voice quiet. “I’m a middle aged criminologist with more interest in bugs than people. What on earth could he  _ possibly  _ want with me, besides the hook-up?” A sharp pain in his shoulder brought his attention back to the woman, who was looking at him in angry disbelief. “Gilbert Grissom I cannot believe those words just came out of your mouth. You are an amazing person with an admittedly disturbing obsession with bugs, but you are also brilliant and witty when you want to be and you have a way of looking at the world differently than others, and you don’t let stereotypes get in the way of how you see a person, so why the  _ hell _ do you think you can just toss that young man aside because he smiles at you like he wants to get in your pants. I’m going to go inside and bring this photo over to Recognition. You are more than welcome to join me when you can pull your head out of your ass.” With that, she was shoving open the car door, leaving it with a definitive slam and making her way to the doors. Grissom was left behind in the growing stuffiness of his vehicle with nothing but his thoughts and the turmoil in the pit of his stomach.

**\-----**

Grissom was embarrassed to admit that Catherine’s words had cowed him more than a little, and he spent a large amount of the rest of his shift hiding in his office. Had anyone stopped to ask, however, he’d have defended himself by saying that he was doing background research on their victim’s brother-in-law while he waited on facial recognition to give him an identity to the man who’d been infatuated with their victim. He was also doing a little more  _ personal _ research. On one Nick Stokes. The younger man’s last name had sounded familiar to Grissom, and as soon as he could rationalize to himself that he wasn’t being desperate or creepy, he’d done a search on the name and was surprised with the outcome. 

Bill Stokes was a successful and well-known judge out of Texas and he along with his wife Jillian, a very sought after lawyer, had built a life for themselves and their seven children. Grissom learned during his research that the oldest, one of the only two sons, ran the family ranch and that one of their daughters was following in her mother’s footsteps, but little else was known about the other children, specifically one named Nicholas. Grissom was beginning to grow a little irritated (paparazzi know everything about a certain person’s life including what they had for breakfast and what their last bowel movement was but the names of the remaining children of a prominent lawyer and judge remain a mystery?) when an alert popped up on his screen. Facial recognition on their suspect had just come back with a DMV photo belonging to one Richard Carlton, 46. Knowing this was Catherine’s way of telling him he had moped long enough, he closed out his computer and left to track her down in Recognition. 

“So what exactly do we have on this ‘Richard Carlton’?” he asked as he walked into the lab, Catherine looking up to acknowledge him. “He’s a divorced middle aged man, no kids, works as an accountant for one of the casinos. There’s no criminal history, though he was fined once several years ago for soliciting a prostitute he claimed he thought was his wife. Guess there’s no real question why the marriage fell apart. Anyway she moved out toward Southern California and is now happily remarried to her old yoga instructor and he has an apartment on the east side. Sent the information and the address to Brass, he said he’d check it out later. In the meantime, I’m going to leave so I can still see Lindsey before school. Go home and get some sleep, Gil. Sweet dreams!” That lecherous grin was back as the blonde woman practically sashayed out and down the hall. Grissom glanced at his watch, a little surprised to find that it really was about the end of Graveyard, nodded his thanks to the tech and made his way out toward the time clock, Catherine’s bid for him to have “sweet dreams” bouncing around in the back of his mind and threatening to knock the lid off the box he’d shoved the growing feelings he was having toward his informant. 

  
  



	6. Chapter 6

It’s a week before Grissom is able to put his attention back on the case of Imani Howard. The day after learning the name of Nick “Dallas” Stokes had been his day off and he’d taken the opportunity to catch up on his backlog of academic journals, but when he’d returned to work Imani’s case had been set onto the back burner in favor of a home arson case. The only victim had been the family’s pet gerbil, Doc identifying COD as smoke inhalation, but the cause had been giving them some trouble. By all appearances it looked like an electrical fire, but there were unexplained stains in the daughter’s closet which appeared to possibly be a secondary source of ignition. 

The arson case had them scratching their heads, but it was Imani Howard’s case that had him worried. The case was growing cold. Brass was having trouble tracking down Richard Carlton, his boss saying he had taken some time off, and with no new leads, there wasn’t a real reason to keep chasing the case of a dead hooker. He kept telling himself that he was so invested in the case because of Imani and her son. That he wanted to get justice for the little boy wondering what happened to the woman he only knew as an aunt. He wasn’t fooling himself in the slightest; not when every time he closed his eyes to sleep he was seeing a toned body in nothing but leather chaps and a cowboy hat, piercing brown eyes glowing in the dark, burning through him like an inferno.  _ Aw hell, _ he thought to himself as he stared at the computer screen, not really taking in the report in front of him.  _ Face it, Gil, you’ve got it bad. _

They found it. The mysterious stains in the daughter’s room had been nail polish remover mixed with tar. She’d stolen one of her dad’s cigarettes and hidden in her closet. She’d tried it, but when she started choking on the smoke she accidentally knocked over a bottle of nail polish remover. She’d tried to put out the cigarette against her wall before running to get a towel to clean up the mess and a few cinders had fallen onto the carpet, setting the puddle of acetone on fire. The heat from the small flame had melted wiring in the wall and sparked the electrical fire in the adjoining room. When the results came back and they’d told the family, the little girl had burst into tears, apologizing repeatedly, but it seemed most of her tears were because she’d killed Mr. Fluffy. Dad had taken the responsibility of leaving his cigarettes where they could have been found and they’d left so he could call their insurance company about coverage and repair-replacement.

Grissom had just gotten back into his office when his phone was ringing. Glancing at his watch and wondering who would be calling him at three in the morning, he picked up. “CSI Grissom.”

“ _ Mister Grissom?”  _ The voice on the other end was female, breathy and paniced with a slight English accent. “ _ It’s Britain, Mister Grissom. You probably don’t remember me, but your partner gave me your card when you came in asking about Jade?”  _

Grissom was nodding before he realized she couldn’t actually see him. “Yes, yes of course I remember you. What can I help you with?”

“ _ I’m sorry to bother you, but I didn’t know who else to call. What policeman would listen to a stripper, right? You had just seemed so nice, and you said to call--” _

“Britain,” Grissom interrupted. The young woman’s voice had become nearly hysterical as she rambled. She’d called for a reason and she sounded scared. Grissom wanted to know why. “Britain, take a deep breath, and tell me what’s wrong. Did you remember something about the man who was obsessing over Jade?” Over the phone he heard the petite blonde take a deep, shaky breath before speaking again. “ _ I’m not sure… I just got off work and I thought maybe I’d seen him in the crowd during my show but I couldn’t be sure it was him. But mister Grissom, the reason I called is because I think someone’s following me. I got this feeling about a block from the club, I always walk home, see. I don’t live too far away and it’s such a pretty night, but I got that feeling someone was following me, so I turned to look and some John was walking behind me at a bit of a distance. I didn’t think much, thought maybe he was just someone out for a walk too, but it’s been four blocks since then and I’ve already passed my apartment and he’s still there, mister Grissom. I don’t know what to do, I don’t think he’s just out for a stroll anymore, I think he’s following me!” _

Grissom felt his body stiffen. There could be a hundred different possibilities for why this person was following the young woman; he could just be a John wanting to solicit her services, or a man who happened to be going in the same direction as her. _Or he could be_ _the same man who killed Imani…_ his brain supplied. Sticking his head out the door, he flagged down the first employee he saw, who happened to be Warrick. “Call Brass,” he said, holding the phone away from his mouth. “Have him trace my phone to who I’m talking to. Now!” The young man nodded, turning and heading back the way he’d come. Grissom could hear Britain’s strained breaths through the tiny speakers. “Okay, Britain? I need you to try and calm down for me. Can you do that? The police are on their way but I need you to try and give me a description of the man following you. Is he tall?” There was a pause over the line. “ _I...I’m not sure. It’s dark and he’s dressed in black… oh God, mister Grissom he’s getting closer! Oh my God! It’s---”_

Britain’s voice was cut off by a loud clattering sound and Grissom had to pull the receiver away from his face to keep the sound from hurting his ears. “Britain?” He said hesitantly, but no response. “Britain, are you alright?” There was nothing but background noise for a long moment, then a distant, terror filled scream and the line went dead. “Britain? Britain!” Grissom called, but there was only dead silence. He set the phone down and sank back into his chair. He tried to reassure himself that maybe she’d just dropped her phone, that she was okay, but there was a voice in the back of his mind that sounded suspiciously like Ecklie mocking him, saying he’d just gotten the poor girl killed. He tried redialing the number, hoping  _ somebody _ would pick up, but he was met with a voicemail. “ _ Hi, you’ve reached me! Sorry I can’t come to the phone but if you leave a message I’ll get back to you! And if this is dad, I promise I haven’t forgotten mum’s birthday! Flight is booked and I'll see you both in a couple weeks! Loves!”  _

He slowly set the phone down onto the desk, the recorded message leaving a bad taste in his mouth. There was always the chance that it was an old message, but something told him it wasn’t. There was a knock on his door and he looked up to see Catherine standing there with a look on her face that made Grissom’s stomach drop. “We just got the call,” she said, voice quivering just slightly. ““Brass got your call traced, the squad car got there about two minutes ago. They want us to come on out…” Grissom nodded, casting one more look at the phone before rising and following her out. The ball in the pit of his stomach tightened with guilt.

  
  



	7. Chapter 7

Crime tape was already up, but this time there were no rubberneckers. In this part of town, a scene like this was an everyday occurrence. Catherine brought the Tahoe to a stop and they got out, grabbing their kits and cameras and ducking the tape to join the short, balding man who stood next to their victim. Britain lay where she must have fallen, nails chipped and knuckles bloody, stab wounds and crimson staining the light blue blouse she wore. She’d said on the phone that she’d just left work, her face still done in the red, white, and blue, but she had exchanged the bra, stilettos, and mini skirt for a pair of white shorts, a blue blouse, and a pair of bright pink running shoes. She looked young, and Grissom could imagine this young woman hanging at the mall or attending college classes, or getting off the plane to greet her loving parents in Heathrow Airport. 

Grissom felt his gut twist as he crouched down, camera at the ready to document her injuries. Her makeup was smeared and her pretty face was pulled into a wide eyed expression of fear. Dark, finger shaped bruises wrapping around her neck like strands of a necklace. “What’s this in her mouth?” Catherine asked, gloved finger tugging at her bottom lip to reveal the corner of a piece of paper. Brass shrugged. “We were waiting on you to tell us that.” The two men watched Catherine slowly tug the wad out of her mouth. It was a business card.  _ Grissom’s  _ business card. For the first time in a long time, the entomologist felt like he was going to be sick at a crime scene. Whoever had done this to her was sending a clear message.  _ The Narc Whore got what she had coming.  _ “Oh, God…” Catherine murmured, smoothing out the card that was now damp with blood and saliva. “Poor girl…” Grissom nodded, returning his focus to the camera, doing his best to shove the rising emotions into the back of his mind. 

Brass waited for him to snap a photo of her discarded purse before he picked it up, taking a moment to riffle through before coming out with a wallet in the shape of an owl. “Her name is Meredith Blayne. She has a student visa for the University of Nevada. License says she’s 20 years old…” The air around them grew heavy. Grissom guessed that she’d taken the job to work her way through school, taking classes in the day and working the stage at night. He also guessed that her parents had no idea about her extra curricular activities. “She was so young…” Catherine commented softly, studying the girl’s pale face a moment longer before clearing her throat and rising, taking her camera to go find more evidence to document. The young woman’s death was a tragedy, but they had a job to do. They could at least bring her justice.

The sun was creeping up past the horizon by the time they had finished and were packing up to head back to the lab. Catherine had already loaded their equipment into the Tahoe and was on the phone with somebody, probably her mother, but before Grissom joined her he had something to talk to Brass about. “Hey, Jim. Can I have just a minute?” The older man nodded, joining the CSI off to the side. “What is it?” The police Captain sounded tired, and Grissom could sympathize completely, so he made a silent promise to keep it short. “When you contact her family, don’t let them know what she did for a living. Tell them the truth, but just say she was walking home from work.” Brass nodded in understanding at the request, experience with his own daughter giving him an insight into what it would be like for her parents, and he  _ hadn’t  _ lost her. The shorter man had just turned to head back to his own car when Grissom remembered something and quickly called him back. “Jim, one more thing. If it comes up when you contact her family, will you tell me whether or not she made it home for her mother’s birthday?” The man nodded. Grissom could tell he wanted to ask why, but he held his tongue, instead turning and walking back to his car. It was late, and he had work to do before he was allowed to sleep. Watching his retreating form for a long moment, Grissom finally turned and headed back to the waiting Tahoe. Their work was over for the day.

**\-----**

Early morning traffic had begun by the time Grissom was clocked out and back in his own vehicle, and he wanted nothing more than to go home, take a hot shower, and then curl on the couch with a cup of tea and an academic journal, but first he had to find Nick. The young man had known their latest victim, and Grissom felt he owed the younger man the information before he heard it on the news. Finding a place to park, he quickly hit the Strip in search of the familiar cowboy hat. He passed a few stragglers, ladies whom the sun had yet to scare off as they tried to grab those last few on their way into work, but after searching up and down the way twice and finding no sign of the younger man, he was forced to call defeat.  _ He’s probably gone home,  _ the CSI thought to himself as he made his way back to his vehicle. He’d come back tonight and try to find him. For now, though, there was a cup of Oolong and the latest entomology journal waiting for him at home.

**\-----**

The first few hours of shift were spent processing the evidence from the previous night’s crime scene. They had Mandy trying to run prints off the business card while Sara helped Greg process her clothing and Warrick tried to match the molds of Britain--Meredith’s stab wounds. Unlike with Imani, there had been no weapon left behind. MO was the same, and it had clearly been another crime of passion, but there was no sure way to be positive it was the same person. When Warrick finished with the molds, Grissom was going to have him take Sara back out to the crime scene and see if there was anything they missed that morning. In the meantime, Grissom was sitting in his office staring blankly at the coroner’s report Doc. Robbins had just sent him and thinking about the phone call. “ _ What policeman would listen to a stripper, right?”  _ She’d called him because she was scared, because she trusted him to listen… and it might have been the decision that got her killed.

He was startled out of his stupor by the phone, picking it up on instinct with a rehearsed “CSI Grissom.” The wave of deja vu hit him like a truck and he was sure it would be a long time before he could answer his phone without feeling that pit of dread.

“ _ It’s Brass. I thought you should know I just got off the phone with Mr. and Mrs. Blayne. Mrs. Blayne’s birthday had been three days ago. I guess Meredith had just not gotten around to changing her voicemail yet.”  _

Grissom sank back into his chair in relief. “Thanks, Jim. I’ll let you know when Doc releases the body for identification.” They exchanged goodbyes and then hung up, Grissom finally able to focus on the report in front of him. Multiple stab wounds, but COD had been a crushed larynx. Contusions to the back of the head and shoulders from where she’d been thrown down, but there were defensive wounds on her knuckles and DNA under her fingernails. David had run them up to the lab for testing.  _ Good girl,  _ he thought to himself as he sent the report on to Brass.  _ Took a piece of him with you. Maybe this will finally help us catch the bastard. _ Closing out his computer after a glance at the clock, he rose and headed out to find Catherine. They had to go back to Neon High and let the manager know another one of his dancers had just turned up dead.

Unable to find her, he learned from Warrick that she and Sara had gone out to deal with a car wreck that appeared to be a case of drunk driving, though it didn’t appear anyone was badly hurt, so he left a message for her to meet him at the club and headed back out to his car. Traffic was light at this time of night, but the Strip was as busy as ever. The moment he got out of his Tahoe he was assaulted by the noises and lights of the Las Vegas Strip on a Friday night. As he made his way down the block toward the Neon High, he nodded greetings to casino owners and Street Walkers he recognized, exchanging nods with Chyna Doll as she walked toward a parked car. As he neared the club, his phone rang and he had to duck into an alley to answer it. It was Catherine calling to tell him she and Sara had just finished and she’d be there in less than ten. Deciding to just wait for her to join him, he leaned up against the corner, content to people watch for the time being. 

It was always interesting to observe the people who came to visit this part of Vegas. There were always the tourists, young couples looking to get hitched, the middle aged content to walk around in their khaki shorts and fanny packs playing slots and taking pictures of the fountain shows, and businessmen here for conventions and meetings and “employee team building exercises”. This little part of Vegas was a melting pot if ever there was one, a pot fueled by the wanton desire to be anyone you want, do anything you want without the consequences, and take the chance to make it big on the tables.  _ What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, _ he thought to himself as he watched a blonde woman in a green miniskirt and tube top that barely covered her under breast and showed off her ample cleavage lean into the window of a bright yellow Mercedes to talk to the man inside. He tried to imagine what she’d had planned for her life, if she’d been hoping for California and came up just shy, if she’d been studying for Law or Med, or if she’d grown up rough and decided to turn to what she knew. 

The train of thought took him back to Nick. What was the youngest son of two very prominent figures doing dancing for a club in Las Vegas? With his parents’ influence, he could have gone on to do anything he wanted in whatever profession he chose. Everything about the young man intrigued Grissom. It was starting to worry him just how often his mind turned to thoughts of the young Texan. He wanted his body, Nick was undeniably attractive and Grissom would have had to be dead to not see it without some level of lust cinching his gut tight, but he wanted to know the man behind the pretty face and cowboy hat. He wanted to know Nick in a way even more intimate than sex; he wanted to know his very soul. 

He was pulled from his thoughts by a voice. Thinking for a moment that the young man had been summoned by Grissom’s very thought of him, he straightened, looking around only to see the familiar blonde head of Catherine bobbing her way through the crowd. “Sorry about the wait, Grissom. I had to get Sara distracted. She wanted to come with me.” The blonde woman rolled her eyes and Grissom had to fight back a smile. Despite what many of his team thought, he wasn’t blind. He knew full well the feelings the young woman had for him, and while he was certainly flattered, they were not feelings he returned. She was young and ambitious, something that could help her in the future, but she was also headstrong with the belief that just because she wanted it meant she was going to get it. She couldn’t seem to get that Grissom wasn’t interested in being anything more than her supervisor. 

Offering Catherine a nod of agreement, he led her into the black lit atmosphere of Neon High. The bartender recognized them immediately, disappearing briefly as they neared, only to return with the manager before attending to his patrons. “What can I do for you this time?” the manager asked, friendly manner from last time now a very thin veil over the irritation. “We’re here to talk about Meredith Blayne,” Grissom said, taking the reins and watching the stouter man for indicators. He only found scrunched eyebrows and more irritation. “Who?”

“ _ Britain _ ,” Catherine said, having to raise her voice a little over the opening chorus for the latest dancer. “What about her?” the man asked again, eyes more focused on the young woman on stage than on the CSIs in front of him. “She’s dead,” Grissom replied, watching in hidden amusement as the man’s head snapped back in their direction, eyes wide and all traces of irritation gone. “Dead? But she was just dancing last night! Closed us out to The Kinks, got changed and left.” 

“Do you remember if anything strange happened during her performance?” Grissom asked, choosing to ignore the irony of band choice. “Was there anyone there who was acting unusual? Did anyone follow her out?” The manager just shook his head. “Nah, nothing out of the norm. I had to deal with something in the back so I didn’t see her leave, she just stuck her head in for a quick goodbye and skipped out.”

“Did you happen to notice if Richard Carlton was in the audience today?” Catherine asked, pausing from where she’d been taking notes. The manager looked at her with a raised brow. “Who?” The man was beginning to sound like an Owl.

The look on Catherine’s face would have cowed lesser men than Grissom, and even he was slightly worried. “The man who’d been stalking Jade,” she said, jaw visibly tight. It took the balding man several long moments before any form of recognition appeared on his face. “Oh yeah, him. No, I gave his face to our bouncer, told him not to let him in if he ever showed his face around here again, and I trust Brocko, no way that weasle slipped past him. Now if you’ll excuse me…” On the stage, the latest dancer was switching out with the next, a woman in an ushanka, matching fur stole and red skirt. The manager turned, not even sparing the CSIs another glance before he was striding off toward the woman who’d just gotten off the stage. “Thank you for your time,” Catherine muttered after him, voice dripping with sarcasm. Grissom just gently took her by the elbow and led her out, the pounding music fading away as they stepped back onto the sidewalk. “Ugh, the  _ nerve _ of that man! Can you believe him? Doesn’t even know the names of his own girls, let alone the man who’d been stalking one of them!”

Grissom just took a step back and let her rant. He knew this was a special case for her due to her background, and telling her to calm down and shake it off would only serve to make her angry and put his own body in the line of fire. When he saw that she was calming slightly, he stepped forward and put a hand on her shoulder. “I know, Cath, but there isn’t much we can do except try and find the man hurting these girls.” The blonde woman nodded, taking a deep breath through her nose, trying to calm down. “Why don’t you go ahead and take off a little early. You can have breakfast with Lindsey before she goes to school.” Catherine looked at him in surprise, but didn’t argue. Instead she just offered him a tired, grateful smile and headed back toward the parking garage. Grissom stood there watching her go, then turned and headed the opposite direction. He had a cowboy to find and some bad news to deliver.

  
  



	8. Chapter 8

The first stop he made was into Inamorato, asking the bartender if “Dallas” was in. The woman gave him a knowing look that made Grissom squirm before telling him that no, the Texan had finished early and headed on out, but that Grissom could probably find him out walking. The entomologist thanked her and left quickly, not wanting to be on the receiving end of a game of Bartend Twenty Questions. He ducked out the side exit, leaning back against the wall to take a few deep breaths of surprisingly chilly night air. A part of his brain was chiding him for still looking instead of having left word with the bartender to pass the news on to Nick.  _ You lovesick old fool,  _ it taunted.  _ You’d go through any excuse to see him again, wouldn’t you! Even risking getting caught in a gay bar!  _ He tamped down the thoughts angrily, but they made his stomach pinch and twist.  _ For god's sake, Gilbert, you’re turning into Richard Carlton, pining away after an exotic dancer like he’s the one who’s going to bring about your happily ever after! _

Grissom let his head hang. He knew that if Catherine was here she’d call him on it too, it was just something he couldn’t explain. When he’d first seen the younger man, he’d seen an intelligence in those eyes, so much more than the empty look he saw in most of the working girls he came across, and it had excited something inside of him. Like the hunger he got with a new case that promised to be full of intrigue and misdirection, but deeper, something that struck him all the way to the core and sunk its teeth in with no hope of letting go. To put it mildly, he was hooked and being reeled in little by little, losing the battle against the line.

A low groan from farther down drew his attention. The part of his brain that sounded disturbingly like Ecklie told him to leave it, that he knew what went on in the dark alleys behind places like this, but when the groan came again, the part that sounded like his mother during the odd times she had to be verbal told him that it was exactly because of that knowledge that he needed to go. If it was someone getting lucky then he could just turn and leave before they saw him, but someone could be hurt, and it would be on his head if they were and he did nothing. Taking a deep breath and preparing himself to likely be stepping in on someone  _ in flagrante delicto,  _ he headed deeper behind the nightclub. 

Inamorato had one of the best locations for people wanting to meet up with their favorite dancer or their latest paid relationship. It shared one wall with a sports bar that always had some game playing, but the other had an alley between it and the next casino. If one followed the alley all the way down they found themselves at a T, one end letting out next to a motel and the other continuing on until it hit the back of a surprisingly pricey restaurant, creating the perfect spot to get down and dirty for some quick sex. Or a mugging. Sending up a prayer that he’d only find the former, Grissom made his way down, stepping half out from behind a dumpster and looking out into the darkened area. Two figures were suggestively posed in the club’s back door security light, one on his knees between the legs of the other. He couldn’t make out much of the one standing, but he felt his heart clenching painfully when he realized the one on his knees in the middle of fellatio was wearing a very familiar cowboy hat. Chest aching painfully, Grissom took a step back, his foot catching on a discarded can and sending it skittering away. He froze.

The man on his knees didn’t stop, but he seemed to speed up, as though now in a rush to get the process done, the sound of a zipper followed by the wet  _ squish _ of skin on skin loud in the stillness that had followed Grissom’s clumsiness. The Receiver looked up, and Grissom felt a vice clench around his gut. Brown eyes burned in the shadows cast by the emergency light and the older man could feel them piercing to his soul. Nick Stokes smirked, eyes traveling from Grissom to the man between his legs and back again, something sparking deep inside them as he canted his hips forward just slightly, another groan slipping from between his full lips. Grissom knew he should leave, voyeurism was never something he’d been into and Nick was clearly in the middle of something, but he couldn’t make his legs move. They seem to have become one with the pavement beneath his boots. All he could do was watch, just as transfixed with the younger man now as he was the day he saw his first show, and the dancer knew it. 

Nick let his head fall back against the wall, looking over at Grissom from beneath long lashes, hips starting to pivot more frequently as the moans and soft cries increased in frequency. The soft  _ suck-slap _ of flesh on wet flesh became more frantic as the man between Nick’s legs grew closer to release, and Grissom could hear his soft whimpers muffled by the dancer’s member. The entomologist wondered if he was another dancer, or maybe an enamored fan, but the thoughts made him ache, unjustified jealousy burning through his core and up his throat until he felt like he was choking on it. What Nick did wasn’t his business. He knew next to nothing about the younger man, so any jealousy he might feel was irrelevant, but he couldn’t seem to convince that nagging feeling in the back of his mind. It bit at the soft tissue, wanting to know what another man was doing touching  _ his  _ Nick, why wasn’t Grissom marching over there and pulling him away, replacing the stranger’s mouth with his own. 

The man on the ground came with a grunt, painting the wall in front of him white as his head tipped back and his mouth gaped open. He was surprisingly young, maybe early twenties, Grissom noted. Probably still in the experimental phase and wanting to get some paid practice before he tried it out for real. Grissom could understand that. He’d been young once, had done his own bouts of experimentation in the name of science and curiosity, so he couldn’t fault the kid. The thought helped to ease the gnaw of jealousy, and he watched as Nick reached down and took back his cowboy hat, settling it back on his head while one hand dropped to cover his slick, still hard member. The kid rested his forehead against a denim clad hip for a moment before he looked up, whites of his eyes visible from where Grissom stood. “Did I do good?” he asked, voice timid, and Grissom watched a smile tug at the corner of Nick’s lips as he ran a free hand through the boy’s sweaty hair before cupping his cheek and running a thumb over swollen lips. “You did great, darlin’,” he told him. “You’re gonna blow ‘em all away.”

The smile on the boy’s face at those words was brighter than the midday sun as he went to push himself to his feet, taking Nick’s offered hand in assistance. “But what about you?” he asked, looking down at where the dancer was still cupping himself. “Don’t worry ‘bout it, darlin’. Go on back in and find your friends, tell’em they owe you that fifty bucks for earnin’ your wings.” Nick tapped him lightly on the cheek and, with one more grateful smile, the boy disappeared back through the door and into the club, having evidently not even noticed Grissom still standing there. Nick, however, had clearly not forgotten. Taking a moment to tuck himself back into his jeans, he strode over toward the CSI with determination, smirk wide enough to rival Catherine’s. “Well, well, doc… never pegged you as a voyeur. Hope you at least enjoyed the show…” He was close, Grissom could feel the heat emanating from his bare chest, could smell the lotion he must have used before his performance. He felt his gut flutter and had to fight back his immediate reaction.

“Sorry about that, doc,” the younger man said, accent heavy and soft as he leaned in, hands finding their way to Grissom’s hips. “Some guys just wanna feel a nice warm, solid dick in their mouths…” 

“We both…” Grissom cleared his throat. “We both know that’s not what that was about.” His head was swimming with the proximity and he desperately tried to clear it, keep it analytical and on the matters at hand. His back hit the wall; when had he moved? Nick’s grin softened a little and he leaned back, but his pelvis remained pressed against Grissom’s hip and he could feel the hard lines of the dancer’s erection through the layers of clothing. His gut stirred again, but he quickly tamped it down. “Was it some kind of bet?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice even. Nick huffed out a laugh, head drooping a bit and sending his mussed bangs over his eyes. Grissom had to bite back a moan. He looked so young like that, and Grissom wondered if that’s what he used to do all the time, messy hair falling all over his face and a light blush painting his cheeks when a pretty girl (or boy?) paid him a compliment. 

“Poor kid is a freshman at SoNev. He was trying to get into a frat house and one of his requirements is that he can give good head. He’d just come out of the closet over the summer and had never done it, so a group of them brought him here and told him if he could get someone to let him blow them for practice they’d give him 50 bucks and he’d be in. No public demonstration necessary.” Brown eyes met blue through tousled bangs, hidden jokes and secrets making Grissom wonder if the man in front of him had ever had those kinds of experiences; the frat house hazings he remembered seeing on campus all the time both as a student and when he taught. Some of them could get pretty brutal, he could only hope this really was what the kid wanted and that it was all going to work out for him. “So did he really earn his 50?” Grissom asked, curiosity burning holes in his brain, “or did you just take pity on the poor kid and decide to give him a show?”

Nick’s eyes grew comically wide before he threw his head back in loud guffaws. “Who knew you had it in you, doc!” he said breathlessly, face pink in exertion and cowboy hat skewed. “Nah, that show was just for you…” the husky quality had returned to the Texan’s voice as he leaned in close, fingers spidering up Grissom’s sides and breath ghosting across the underside of his jaw. The CSI bit his lip until he tasted iron. “You know, doc, I could still use a little help. See, I’ve got this tension… and I think you might be just the person to help me with it…” 

Grissom couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. Every one of his senses was filled with the younger man; the way he smelled, the way his strong fingers danced along his ribs, toned muscles pressed into him from knee to chest. His thoughts were flying in a million different directions, screaming at him to  _ Yes, yes, yes! Take the offer!  _ Or  _ No! What are you thinking, you stupid old man! He’s a hooker and has no real interest in you! He’s probably already stolen your wallet while he has you pinned here like one of your insects.  _ But the voice that was winning over all the others was a quiet one that whispered  _ Not now. Right now he’s connected to a case and you have a job to do. When this is all over, we can revisit these feelings, but right now we have a job.  _

With great mental difficulty, Grissom got his hands up between them, pushing gently but firmly against well-defined shoulders. Nick went willingly, brow furrowed just slightly but eyes unhurt, more amused than anything. “I’m sorry,” Grissom told him, voice gravelly. This time he didn’t even try to hide it. “You’re right, I do want this. I want this more than I even should--” he didn’t miss the smirk that curled the younger man’s full lips “--but I have to do this right, and for now, you’re connected with a crime, possibly two. If it was discovered that I was having relations with someone involved in a case, then I could be taken off of it or it could even be thrown out.” 

Nick nodded in understanding, backing up a respectful distance and fixing his hat. Grissom took a deep breath, the smell of leather and sandalwood that had filled his senses quickly replaced with trash and used oil from the nearby Chinese restaurant. The unpleasantness helped to clear his head. When he met the younger man’s gaze, the Texan’s face was creased in a deep frown. “What is it?” Grissom asked, afraid he’d maybe offended the other man. “You said possibly two,” was the reply, and it took the scientist’s lust-muddled brain a moment to process. “Why did you say two cases? What happened?” The Texan’s eyes were wide with worry, but something in them brokered no arguments or excuses. They wanted the truth. Grissom’s heart pinched. “I’m sorry,” he started, “but Meredith Blayne is dead.” 

It was a testament to how well the man before him knew the people in his line of business, because there was no confusion on his face when Grissom told him who the latest victim was. He’d taken a shot in the dark using Britain’s real name, going off the hypothesis that if Nick had been close with Imani, he must have known Meredith too. The sorrow that lacerated his features was tell enough of that. “How?” he asked. No attempt at denial, no making sure they had the right person, none of what they usually saw when informing someone that a relation of theirs was dead. Just straight to the point. “Last night,” he replied, fighting the urge to step forward and offer some form of comfort. “She was on her way home from work and she called me, told me someone was following her. I stayed on the line with her until it cut off, had a car heading toward her location, but she was dead when they arrived.”

The younger man nodded, gaze focused on the emergency lights. “Was it him? Was it the guy who’d been stalking Imani?” Grissom could only shake his head. “We aren’t sure. There were no witnesses, and the only thing Meredith had been able to tell me was that he was male and dressed all in black.” Nick nodded in understanding, shoulders trembling just slightly. He was trying to hold it together, but Grissom could tell he was just about to break.  _ Fuck protocol,  _ he thought to himself, striding forward and wrapping the younger man in his arms. The cowboy hat was quickly discarded onto the ground in favor of pressing wet eyes into a warm neck, arms wrapping around waists in ways that were anything  _ but  _ sexual as Grissom held on to the grieving man. 

After a while, heaving shoulders stilled, but neither man felt the need to let go just yet. Instead they stood there, swaying just slightly as though to some song only they could hear; a song of tragedy and lives cut short, bringing two souls from different walks of life together under the most unseeming of circumstances. Nick was the first to break the silence that had fallen between them. He made no move to pull from Grissom’s embrace, breath hot against the older man’s jugular and words muffled. “Meredith was here on a student Visa, but you probably knew that. She’d gotten a scholarship to U of N for volleyball but broke her ankle last year and lost it. That’s why she was dancing. She wanted to become a pediatrician with a minor in social working because she didn’t want other kids to go through what she’d seen her best friend go through. Her name had been Addie, she and Meredith had grown up together. Addie’s mom had died when she was little and her dad was abusive, so she spent a lot of time in and out of the hospital. The doctors reported it, of course. It was unlikely a child like Addie was  _ that  _ clumsy, but her dad had ways of getting around them, saying she was acting out because of the loss of her mother. Addie killed herself when they were thirteen. The abuse had only gotten worse as she got older, and Addie had already tried to run away four times, but her dad always tracked her down, so one day Meredith went over after school to check on her, and found Addie hanging in her closet.”

Grissom’s heart ached for the girl, and the man she’d apparently trusted enough to share the story with. Meredith had clearly wanted to repay her friend’s memory by doing some good, but her life had been cut short by a psychopath all because she’d talked to him. “Has her family been contacted?” the younger man asked, startling Grissom just slightly. He nodded. “Yes, they’ve been notified, and we’ll let them know when they can come to claim the body. We found possible DNA under her nails, so we need to hold on to the body as evidence for a little longer.” 

“Do they know what she did for a living?” Nick questioned further, finally pulling away far enough to look the entomologist in the eye. Grissom shook his head. “No. They were told she was on her way home from work, not what she did for a living.” Nick gave an affirmative nod, then looked down at Grissom’s watch. “Well, doc, it’s mighty late. Shouldn’t you be getting back to your coffin before you turn to dust?” The older man looked down too, noting the time before looking up. He could just see the sky fading from black to blue through the neon pollution. “You should be going too,” he said, meeting brown eyes that seemed to hold a mirth that had been missing for a while. “Creatures of the night rarely do well in the light of day.” 

Eyes widened, then full lips broke into a smile that showed off every single straight, white tooth, and it was a smile Grissom swore to himself he would figure out how to see again. “Waxing poetic, doc? You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you. You are right, though. I have appointments to keep, and I surely look better in the dark.” He leaned forward, and before Grissom could fully process the renewed proximity the younger man was laying a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Be seein’ ya’, doc…” Nick said, drawl heavy as he smirked, backing up before disappearing back into the now silence of Inamorato. It was a long moment before Grissom found himself regaining control of his body, electricity still crackling from the point of contact. 

  
  



	9. Chapter 9

Grissom was a little late getting into work that evening. Rush hour traffic had been even more abysmal than usual, and he’d had to admit to himself that his mind wasn’t completely on the road. His phone had gone off while he was getting ready and when he looked he’d found an attachment from an unknown number. Curious, he’d opened it only to feel his mouth go drier than the Sahara. It was a selfie, the subject grinning wide, face scrunched up in the middle of a wink under his well worn cowboy hat. He still wore a plaid shirt, but it was unbuttoned about half way down to show off tan, well-defined pectorals. While he was transfixed by the picture, another message popped up. “ _ Good luck tonight, Doc,”  _ it said. “ _ I’ll be thinkin’ of you.”  _ Grissom had to swallow hard, brain working overtime trying to process it all until it settled on one very prominent bit of information. “How did you get my number?” he texted back, kicking himself for the rude way it was bound to come across, but unable to let the fact slide.

Bubbles danced across the bottom of his screen for a long moment before Nick’s response came through. “ _ Took a business card from your pocket last night, hope you don’t mind.”  _ Grissom felt his eyes widen.  _ He’d picked my pocket after all…  _ He was unconsciously reaching for his wallet to see if anything else was missing, the little Ecklie Voice boasting insufferably when another message popped up. “ _ Don’t worry, doc. I only took the card. Wanted to be able to get ahold of you in case something happened.”  _ The entomologist let his hand drop back to his side, shame blooming up the back of his neck.  _ You’re stereotyping again, Gilbert. You’re a scientist. You’re better than that.  _ “You could have just asked me,” he typed. 

“ _ Yeah, but where’d be the fun in that?”  _ the response came almost instantaneously and Grissom could feel the corners of his lips curling into a smile.  _ That  _ sounded like someone Nick’s age would say. Someone who wasn’t selling their body for a living. He glanced down at his watch, realizing that it was nearly time for him to go to work and that the younger man must be texting him from the club. As if reading his mind through the phone line, another message from Nick came through. “ _ You should be going, doc. You’ve got bad guys to catch. Stay safe out there!”  _ The sentiments send warmth flooding through the other man. He sent off a quick “you too” before grabbing his coat and keys and was out the door. 

The drive to the Crime Lab was slow, allotting him plenty of time to think. He thought about the case, about Imani and Meredith and who could be responsible for killing them, he thought about their families and what they must be going through. Trish Howard had come nearly a week ago to claim her sister’s body. She’d come alone, having left Jamal with a friend while her husband worked. She looked a lot like her, a little younger, a little less worn down, but the familial resemblance was hard to miss. Trish had kept a strong facade, identifying her sister and filing the paperwork taking responsibility and directing where to send it. The funeral had supposedly been the day before Meredith had been killed. Mr. and Mrs. Blayne would be notified when their daughter’s body could be claimed, but he could only wonder what they must be going through; calling relations, making arrangements for transportation and the funeral services. It was never easy to lose a child, but to have your child taken from you in such a way was a nightmare no parent should ever have to go through. 

He was a good twenty minutes late by the time he pulled into his parking spot and headed into the building. The first person he ran into was Sara, the young brunette woman practically bouncing when she saw him. “Grissom!” she called, coming in closer than was necessary. The smell of her perfume made his nose itch. “I’ve been looking all over for you! Brass was just here. He says he wants to talk to you and when you finally showed up and that you need to call him. You think this is about the hooker case?” Grissom suppressed the urge to groan and rub his eyes. The young woman was a good CSI. She was observant and never let up on something once she had a clue in it, but those were also her shortcomings. She looked too far into things, trying to find  _ anything _ that could be considered a clue, and her persistence could be compared to the old euphemism “beating a dead horse”. Those combined with the fact that she just referred to their victims as “the hookers” was why she’d never become a  _ Great  _ CSI. “Thank you, Sara,” he told her, stepping around her and starting for his office. She made to follow him, but to Grissom’s deep relief, someone called her from the other end of the hall. 

He stepped into his office, not missing the pout that curled the young woman’s lips as she started down the hall in the direction of whoever had summoned her. Door closing behind him, Grissom had his phone in hand before he even sat down. “ _ Brass,”  _ the Captain answered on the first ring. “It’s Grissom,” the entomologist replied. Brass sounded tired, but there was something else in his tone. “ _ Good news, Grissom. We found him.”  _

Something heavy physically left the room, and the CSI sank back in his chair. There was no need to ask the identity of the “him” Brass was talking about. They’d found Richard Carlton. “Where was he?”

“ _ Reno. Reno PD picked him up on some loitering and solicitation charges. When they ran his prints they found our warrant. We’ve got him in for questioning now, but he’s about to lawyer up. I’ll let you know what we get out of him.” _

“Thanks, Jim,” Grissom told the man before hanging up, head spinning. They’d caught him. After weeks of looking, they’d caught him. There was no doubt in the scientist’s mind that Brass would get the answers he was looking for.  _ This could mean this case is finally over… _ The thought lifted a substantial weight off Grissom’s shoulders. They could give answers to the waiting families, get answers for themselves.  _ You know what this means, don’t you… _ a little voice spoke up.  _ This means that Nick is no longer connected to a case…  _ Grissom dropped his head against the back of his chair, stomach turning flips at that thought. He didn’t want to jump the gun on this, probable cause and suspicions only got one so far, they needed cold hard evidence, but the matter still came down to how solid the facts were against him. 

He sat there in silence for a long time, just staring up at his ceiling. Thoughts connected and disconnected as they swirled through his head. His computer dinged with an email from Doc Robbins so he took a minute to look at it. As soon as he opened it, his stomach plummeted into his shoes. 

_ Coroner’s Report Cont.: _

_ Subject: Meredith Blayne _

_ Results from vaginal swabs show no evidence of recent sexual activity, however blood tests for drug use found elevated levels of hCG in samples. Further examination of the ovaries discovered enlarged corpus luteum and elevated levels of progesterone. Estimated length of gestation: five weeks. _

_ She was pregnant…  _ Everything inside Grissom ached. Did she know? Did she know who the father was? She was only twenty years old and she was going to be a mother… He wondered what she would have done. Would she have given it up for adoption? Would she let her parents raise it? Or would she do it herself, juggling school and work with the chores of raising a child? The thought of an abortion wasn’t even something that crossed his mind. From everything he’d learned about her through Nick, she would have done everything in her power to protect that child, even at such a young age. He felt hollow as he sent the report on to Brass with a small attachment explaining it. Then he laid his head down on the desk, the hollow feeling gnawing away at his intestines like a tapeworm and the heavy weight of not one, but two young lives lost in a single evening bearing down on his shoulders.

His cell phone buzzed inside his pocket. Pulling it up, he found another attachment from Nick. It was another photo, the younger man was lounging on a dark red sofa dressed like he had been earlier, only there was glitter dust across his pectorals and the distinct black smudges of eyeliner ringing his lashes, giving his heedy brown eyes a distinctly heavy look Grissom had often heard referred to as “bedroom eyes”. Contradictory to the look he gave off, the younger man’s smile was open and innocent. He imagined that was the smile the Texan gave to the little old ladies at Sunday Church when he helped them to their seats. The text underneath it read “ _ About to head on stage! Gonna be thinkin’ of you, handsome! _ ” The sentiments tugged a smile from the corner of Grissom’s lips as the gnawing turned to the now familiar fluttering. For the first time since reading that report, he didn’t feel the crippling weight of the case, and it was all because of a young man with deep brown eyes and a smile that could crack the stoniest of hearts. He was typing before his brain had even caught up with his fingers. “I need to see you tonight…”

“ _ My last show is at one…What’s wrong?”  _

Grissom wasn’t sure what it said about him that the younger man could tell something was wrong just by a text. “It’s just been a long night,” he replied. The bubbles danced for a long time, popping in and out as though the man on the other end were composing and then recomposing his thoughts before he finally settled on something. “ _ Come by the club. I’ll find you.”  _ Grissom checked the time. It was a quarter till midnight, much too early to try and bow out, but as Grissom looked back at his computer, at the report that still glared him in the face, he decided he didn’t care. He had to get out of there. For the first time since Holly Gribbs had been killed, his office felt too small, too confining. He had to get out of there. Tugging back on his coat, he sent a quick message to Catherine. “I have to go. Cover for me?” The response was a little delayed; Grissom was already nearing the doors to the lot before she got back to him. “ _ Everything okay?”  _ He knew he should tell her about the new discovery with the case, that he was going to see Nick because for whatever reason the younger man made things make sense. Instead he lied. “Yes, just not feeling very well. Going home to get some rest, I’ll see you tomorrow.” With that, he turned off his phone, tossed it into the passenger’s seat, and headed for the Strip.

**\-----**

Inamorato was crowded at this time of night. Grissom had taken his time, detouring through the desert and taking a little time to stop and see the stars without the lights of the city in the way. He’d left his car in the parking garage, not fully sure how long it would be before he came back to it and figured this was the best bet, and made his way through the crowds and the nightlife. He didn’t even need to flash his badge, the bouncer letting him in right away.  _ Nick must have told him I was coming. _ Stepping into the thrumming darkness, he made his way to the bar, sitting out of the way and ordering a whiskey neat from the young woman behind it. He didn’t normally drink, maybe a glass of something at a social gathering or back in his townhouse after a long day, but right now he felt he could use a bit of liquid courage. 

He sipped at it slow, feeling the burn as it raced down his throat and enjoying the warmth that pooled in the pit of his stomach. Behind him he heard the change in music and knew they were about to be switching out dancers. Sure enough, a minute later the DJ he recognized as Andy was coming on over the speaker. “Put your hands together for everyone’s favorite…  _ DALLAS! _ ” the crowd roared and Grissom pivoted in his seat to better see the stage. His song this time was a bit slower, not the upbeat tone of “Save a Horse”. He sat back against the edge of the bar, sipping at his whiskey as he took it all in. Nick’s moves were fluid, following the steady heartbeat of the music. There was no wild yanking off of the pants or swinging his shirt above his head like last time, instead it was more like making the audience hold their breath in anticipation of what he’s going to do next. 

_ Let it out, tell me right now,  _

_ Everything I need in them white cotton sheets... _

_ Dirty dance me slow in the summertime heat _

_ Feel my belt turn loose from these old blue jeans _ _ … _

He’d already discarded his shirt and belt, but paused as he fingered his belt loops, sharing a grin with the audience, who found it in them to start roaring. Nick tugged at the waistband, pulling it down far enough over his hip to show off a surprising amount of bare, tanned skin. The roar of the crowd grew even louder and Grissom felt his throat go dry. He took a swig of whiskey, swallowing hard against the burn-induced cough that rose up after it. The man on stage offered a wink before tugging his jeans back into place, eliciting a groan of disapproval from the crowd. By then, though, it was the end of the song and he was disappearing back behind the curtains after a final round of bows. “Sorry, folks!” Andy said over the speakers, “but it appears our Dallas forgot his briefs! Let’s give him one more hand, though, for effort! I’m sure he would have shown more if the manager would let him!” The crowd burst out in a collective laugh as the lights changed over and the manager came out on stage. There was a round of good-natured booing which he accepted with a bow before going off on whatever announcement he had, but Grissom had lost interest. A familiar cowboy hat was bobbing its way through the crowd in his direction.

Nick had washed his face and mostly buttoned his shirt, but there were still the faintest traces of glitter on his tanned skin as he walked up to Grissom, a secret-keeper's grin curling up his lips. “Hey, doc! How long’ve you been here?” the question came easy through the thickened accent, but before the older man could respond the Texan was slipping the glass of whiskey from his hand and downing it in one go; not once taking those like-colored eyes off mildly startled blue, aligning lips to the slight smudge on the glass. Grissom had to swallow hard again, burn completely different than that of whiskey taken too fast. Setting the empty vessel back on the bar and offering the tender a wink and a “thanks, Charlotte,” Nick was holding out a hand toward the entomologist. “C’mon, doc, let’s get outta here…” Grissom took the proffered hand.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, angst and sex ahead!


	10. Chapter 10

They ended up at a surprisingly nice motel, the kind where you don’t pay by the hour and they have actual maid service. Nick pulled a small plastic card from one pocket, inserting it into the reader of a corner room a good distance from the front of the building and swung the door open, dropping a workout bag just inside. Before they’d left Inamorato, Nick had disappeared briefly only to reappear with a workout bag. When questioned, he just winked at Grissom, offering him a smile that made him a little nervous and deciding he didn’t want to know after all. Turning his back to the darkened room, he took both of Grissom’s hands in his with a softened smile and led him inside. 

The room was small but comfortable, a single queen sized bed with a nightstand on either end, an attached bathroom with standard coffee pot on the counter by the sink, and a mini fridge next to the TV stand. A completely ordinary motel room. Grissom hadn’t known what he’d been expecting as Nick led him through alleys and around buildings, imagination running wild with everything from Pleasure Houses to seedy motels where you’re undoubtedly going to get an STD just from sitting on the bed, to a corner alley just like he’d found the younger man in yesterday. 

Nick dropped the older man’s hands to go back and close the door and draw the curtains, leaving him standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed, unsure of what to do with himself. When the Texan turned back to him, the smile he wore made Grissom simultaneously want to melt into him and curl up somewhere to die of embarrassment. “It’s okay, darlin’,” Nick told him, stepping up and putting warm hands on his hips, running them up and down the older man’s sides. “Just relax, doc, I gotcha. We won’t do nothin’ you ain’t comfortable with, I swear.” The CSI’s brow creased at the use of double negatives and improper grammar, but those thoughts were quickly blown away as the younger man leaned in close, pressing a firm but chaste kiss to his lips. Fireworks went off behind closed lids and before he knew it Grissom found himself seated on the edge of the bed, coat gone and shirt untucked and half unbuttoned. When all that had happened he couldn’t tell, but right now it didn’t feel like it mattered. Not when the Midwestern Adonis was standing before him; fly open and cock already in hand. 

“Tell me, doc,” Nick started, drawing eyes back to his. “Are you a player? Or a watcher…” Grissom had to swallow hard speech capabilities abandoning him. Try as he might, he couldn’t keep his eyes met with Nick’s. His gaze was drawn, locked, and transfixed on what those slender fingers were doing to that thick cock; a cock he’d only gotten the barest of glimpses at the other night in the alley. As he watched, the younger man moved his member out of the way, reaching back to cup clean shaven balls, rolling them between his fingers like they were poker chips as they swelled at the attention. Grissom found he couldn’t breathe, ears ringing like fire alarms as the small room seemed to grow smaller. He ached, his own entrapped member throbbing for attention and he knew that if he didn’t do anything soon he was going to spill in his pants. Regardless, though, he knew he wasn’t going to last long. 

“Relax, doc,” Nick said, releasing his self-ministrations in favor of cupping Grissom’s cheek, palm smelling of musk and blunt nails scratching through the older man’s beard. It was something he should find disgusting, but it only served to draw a whimper of need from his lips, his face already too flushed for him to worry about the other man seeing him blush. Nick just smiled, thumb rubbing across Grissom’s bottom lip. Experimentally, he snaked his tongue out, drawing the digit into his mouth and sucking at it, scraping his teeth lightly over the pad. Nick’s lips parted in a soft “ _ oh _ ”, and it was one of the most beautiful things the scientist had ever seen. He went to repeat the process, wanting to see if he could elicit the same reactions a second time, but the digit was pulled from his mouth, spit slick pad rubbing across his bottom lip before falling back to cup his lower jaw. “Sorry, doc, but if you kept that up tonight would be over a lot sooner than I’d like it to be. This is all about  _ you,  _ so let me take care of ya’, okay?”

The young man’s eyes were so wide and full of promise that Grissom found himself nodding automatically, watching him sink to his knees, palms heavy on Grissom’s thighs, rubbing ovals up and down over the coarse material of his jeans, up and down from knee to hip, encroaching inward bit by bit, brown eyes never leaving his. “Looks to me like you got a bit of a problem here, doc. Care for some assistance?” Grissom could only offer the barest of nods, mind straying back to the other night where it had pleaded with him to be in the reversal of this position, to push aside the stranger with his mouth around that tantalizing length and replace it with his own. The sound of a zipper brought him back, comparatively chilly air brushing his precome-soaked boxers as he shifted so Nick could slowly get his pants off of him. 

He sat there on the edge of a motel bed in nothing but a pair of arousal-dampened boxers and a half buttoned shirt, hands clenched into the bedspread as he stared down at the top of a cowboy hat.  _ You realize how pathetic you look, don’t you,  _ that annoying little voice crooned.  _ A man in his fifties with no social skills, pining over a prostitute in his twenties? Look at him, Gilbert. He’s gorgeous, and he knows what he’s doing. He could have anyone he wants, so what chance do you think you have? What do you have to offer him? You’re just a pathetic, dirty old man who needs to go back home and play with his bugs. _

Grissom felt bile rising up in the back of his throat. The hands that were still rubbing circles into his thighs no longer felt pleasant, they felt confining and rough. His nerves were on fire, screaming at him to get away before he embarrassed himself any further.  _ What must he think of you? Just a horny old man following him around like some kind of lost puppy? You’re as bad as Richard Carlton…  _ That was the last straw. “Stop,” Grissom said, voice coming out hoarse and barely audible even to his own ears, but somehow the younger man heard him. Brown eyes bored into him, forehead creased slightly in confusion. “Stop,” he said again, voice cracking just slightly. He dropped his eyes to his lap, the traitorous bulge glaringly obvious through his grey boxers. He felt Nick shift, disappearing from his line of sight and for a moment Grissom felt both relief and crushing disappointment. He was relieved that Nick wasn’t pushing, wasn’t ignoring his wishes, but at the same time he didn’t want to be alone, not like this. It would only prove to make him even more the stupid old man he was.

Warm, calloused fingers tucked under his chin, tilting his head back until he was looking up into the younger man’s face. His hat had been removed, brown locks tousled free of their confinement, but he’d rebuttoned his shirt and tucked himself back into his pants, hard member visibly straining against the denim and metal cage but not outwardly distressing him. He straddled Grissom’s legs, crouching enough to better look into the entomologist’s eyes without hurting him and offered him a soft smile. “What’s goin’ on in that gourd of yours, doc?” he asked, accent heavy and soft, “‘cuz I’ve seen some second guessers in my time, but ain’t nobody freaked out on me the way you are right now. So tell me, what’s goin’ on? If you really wanna stop, then I’ll stop. I ain’t gonna push, but you seemed real eager when you messaged me earlier. I just wanna know what’s goin’ on, darlin’” 

Nick’s voice had dropped at that last sentence, brown eyes studying Grissom’s face like he was a puzzle to be solved. The older man flushed crimson. “What are we doing?” he asked, voice quiet in the space between them. Nick cocked a brow at the question, corners of his lips quirking just slightly before smoothing back into seriousness. “Well I don’t know about you, doc, but I’m looking at a very sexy and surprisingly timid criminologist…” the words were spoken in a soft, husky tone that sent heat up to Grissom’s cheeks and down toward his gut. “You don’t really mean that… this is what you do for a profession.” A stone just dropped into the pit of his stomach when he realized what he’d just implied. Now he really was going to be just a sad, half naked old man sitting alone in a motel room. He wanted to look away, but the younger man still held his chin captive so he did the next best thing and closed his eyes. 

Hot breath brushed his jaw as the man in his lap chuckled softly. “C’mon, doc, let me see those gorgeous blues… If you do, I’ll tell you a secret…” Nick’s voice was soft, almost taunting, urging Grissom to give into curiosity. Losing the battle of wills, he did, finding himself faced with a triumphant grin. The younger man leaned in close, breath eliciting a shiver as it ghosted across the shell of his ear. “I don’t fall for ugly people, doc… and you are  _ anything  _ but…” The words were accompanied by a sharp sting to his earlobe, drawing a surprised gasp from his lips. Nick tugged at the soft flesh once, twice, before releasing it and laying kisses along the underside of the older man’s jaw. “I’m gonna take care of you, doc,” he said between kisses, “gonna show you just how wrong those thoughts are…” 

Deft fingers made quick work of the last few buttons on his shirt, sliding the material over his shoulders and down his arms before it was quickly lost to the unknown; warm, calloused skin never losing contact. Nick continued to lay kisses over each new plane of exposed skin, easing Grissom back into the mattress as he worked his way down the CSI’s torso, over his ribs, pausing to lave at an old scar just above his hip until he was kneeling on the carpet between the older man’s thighs. Grissom’s nerves were awash with sensations, drowning out any attempts at thoughts.  _ That must have been his goal _ … He wanted to sit up, to see what the younger man was going to do, but before he could pull his mental faculties together enough to make his limbs do what he wanted to do, he found his most sensitive area suddenly enveloped in a wet inferno through the thin material of his boxers. “Oh,  _ god!”  _ he shouted, unable to suppress the reaction, and the cavern that had swallowed him vibrated in a low chuckle. 

As Nick continued to mouth at him through the last barrier of clothing, Grissom found himself drowning in sensations. He was so hard it was painful, each rasp of the younger man’s tongue through the material was sending lighting up through his nerves at the constant overstimulation. Heat was curling tight and heavy in the pit of his belly and he tried to choke out a warning, but the only sound that left his lips was a low groan. All too soon the heat was being removed and he could feel fingers wrapped into his waistband, tugging slightly to get his attention. Managing to slit his eyes open far enough to see, he met Nick’s raised brow with a nod. “I’m cle---” the rest of his sentence was cut off by a groan as the last barrier between his sensitive member and the decidedly much chillier air of the room was suddenly ripped away, exposing his swollen, leaking head to the open. 

He suddenly felt open, exposed. He’d not been this naked in front of another person since he was an infant. He wanted to cover himself again, to regain that one last bit of modesty that protected him, but he couldn’t. He was frozen in place by calculating brown eyes that took in every inch of his prone body, making Grissom acutely aware of every flaw it had from his softening middle that just refused to firm this late in life, to every scar and every wrinkle and every stretch mark. The lust had faded, and while his member still stood at attention, his nerves had stopped burning with sensations. He forced himself to look into Nick’s face, practically looming over him from the foot of the bed. Those brown eyes roamed all over him, taking in every little detail before traveling up to meet Grissom’s, and the older man was surprised to see the deep brown nearly completely enveloped by black. “God, doc…” he breathed out, “you have no idea how beautiful you really are, do you…”

A blush heated Grissom’s cheeks as he sat up, confidence beginning to build as he reached out for the bottom buttons of the younger man’s shirt, undoing them one by one until they were both nearly on even playing ground. “You keep saying that,” he said, studying the tanned muscles he’d just uncovered, “but I’m still not sure I believe it…” He looked up at the Texan from under his lashes, watching the way the skin of his neck darkened and his breathing sped up just that much more. A smile that could almost be called feral curled those full lips before they were suddenly descending, aligning them to Grissom’s slightly stunned ones. A cacophony of fireworks went off behind the entomologist’s eyelids as he drowned in the taste and smell of Nicholas Stokes. 

Steady pressure pushed him back down into the bed as the warm weight of the younger man followed, hovering just over the entomologist. Grissom bent one leg as the kiss deepened, hot tongue licking against the seam of his lips, begging for entry and being granted, the sharp taste of peppermint and something deeper, almost sweeter exploded through his mouth as tongues dueled. Rough denim bumped his swollen head, drawing a choked off moan from somewhere deep inside him. There was the briefest sound of a zipper and then warm calluses were palming him and pressing him into iron wrapped in scorching velvet, pulling them together in tandem, pace achingly slow, but even with the extra care to draw it out he knew he wasn’t going to last long. He tried to warn the other man, but Nick just pressed further into the kiss, tongue tracing each tooth, his hand shifting until only Grissom’s was encased in the roughness, thumb dipping into his leaking tip before smearing it down his shaft, rolling his own lightly furred balls between those able fingers, pinching and tugging until Grissom was right on the edge, ready to cry with the pressure that had built. What tipped him over the edge, though, was when those talented fingers slipped back, parting his cheeks so that one could press against his tight, quivering hole, slipping past that first ring of muscle with ease and hooking in so that his palm bumped the older man’s balls with every shift. The sensations were too much as Nick leaned close, breathing into his ear. “Come for me, doc…”

Grissom came with a scream, vision whiting out completely and all sound turning to radio static. He couldn’t remember ever coming that hard, even in his experimental college years, and he found himself floating a while, body thrumming pleasantly in post-orgasmic high. When he finally came back around, he found himself under the comforter and pressed against a warm, solid body. He blinked open heavy lids and looked up. Nick was lying on his back, jeans discarded somewhere, one arm wrapped around Grissom and holding him close, the other running light fingertips up and down his miraculously still hard member. He smiled down at Grissom when he realized the older man was awake. “I must say doc, I’ve never had someone pass out on me after a simple hand job before. Not sure if I should be insulted or flattered.” Grissom would have flushed crimson had his blood not been otherwise occupied. His refractory period wasn’t what it had been when he was Nick’s age, though his cock gave a valiant twitch in effort. “Be flattered,” he told the younger man, rolling over a bit more so that he could rest his chin on his toned chest. “I don’t think I’ve ever come that hard in my life.” 

Nick’s smile widened and he leaned down to land a soft kiss on the older man’s lips. “God, you were so beautiful when you came,” he whispered against Grissom’s lips. “Wanna be inside you so bad, doc, wanna see how you look impaled on my cock. I bet you’re so gorgeous like that, legs spread for me so I can watch myself disappearing into that tight hole of yours…” both mens’ breaths had become quicker, more erratic. Heat was pooling in the pit of Grissom’s gut, and he was starting to wonder if maybe he had it in him for a second round after all. Rolling onto his back, he spread his legs suggestively, wanton courage surprising him. Nick just sat up, studying him for a long time.  _ Probably making sure you’re serious this time and not going to start freaking out on him…  _ Evidently making up his mind, the younger man climbed out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Grissom started to worry a little. He could imagine what he must look like right now, and the self-doubting thoughts threatened to set in, but he quickly shoved them away. Nick had already more than proven himself, now was not the time for a breakdown encore. The younger man returned from the bathroom a moment later holding a small bottle of complimentary conditioner, kneeling on the bed between the older man’s thighs. “Tell me now, doc, you ever done this before?” Grissom swallowed hard, shaking his head. “Once or twice, but not since college, and not necessarily the best of experiences…” Nick’s face tensed in sympathy before softening back out, hands squeezing the flesh of Grissom’s thighs lightly. “Don’t worry, darlin’, I’m gonna make this real good for you. I promise.” He lay a quick kiss to the juncture of the other man’s knee before popping the cap on the conditioner and slicking up his fingers. “Just relax for me, alright? I’m gonna make this as easy as I can, but you gotta remember to relax.”

He did his best to relax his body, feeling light, curious fingers rubbing at his perineum, probing at his hole, massaging at the globes of his ass. It felt good; his first time had been quick and dirty at a party one of his college friends had dragged him to, spit for lube and minimal prep, the guy fucking him couldn’t have cared less about the comfort of the body he was using. Grissom hadn’t been able to walk straight for nearly a week. The only thing different about his second time was that it had been real lube, and they’d been in a bed rather than up against the back fence, but it was still more about the other guy’s pleasure than his own. This time, though, this time his partner wasn’t just doing minimum prep because he was more focused on getting himself off; this time he was taking every care to bring his partner just as much pleasure as he was about to receive. 

One finger slid inside, pausing often to give Grissom’s body time to adjust. It was a very foreign feeling, but as his body grew used to it he found the sliding in and out not entirely unpleasant. The finger slid deep, moving against his internal walls as though searching for something. It clearly found it when electricity suddenly shot through Grissom’s body, making his back arch and his toes curl. “So that’s what that’s supposed to feel like,” he said breathlessly, heart thudding behind his ribcage. Below him Nick chuckled, adding another finger and scissoring them, stretching Grissom a little farther. Two soon became three, twisting inside him and brushing against that little bundle of nerves that had him fighting to maintain control. His member was making a valiant attempt to fill at the constant abuse, sensation dancing across his nervous system in some form of pleasure pain. All too soon, though, the fingers were pulling out, leaving Grissom gaping and so empty he felt his eyes burn behind pinched lids. 

There was a sound of ripping foil and then the pressure was back against his hole, only this time it was blunter, bigger.  _ That is  _ definitely  _ not a finger. _ The head of Nick’s member bumped against his hole, asking for entrance. Taking a deep breath, he opened his eyes. The younger man was poised above him, eyes studying his features, looking for any sign of hesitation or rejection. “You sure about this, doc?” he asked. “There’s no shame in backin’ out, darlin’. I’ll understand.” Grissom nodded, pushing his hips back against the blunt head, hissing as it pushed against tight muscles. Nick smiled, bracing the older man’s thighs against his forearms and slowly pushing in, pausing inch by inch to let misused muscles adjust to his girth. As he bottoms out, head brushing that tight bundle, Grissom found himself gasping. He’d never felt that full in his life, pressure and sensation as each rock brushed his prostate making it hard to breathe. 

Hands tightened around his thighs as the younger man began to move, slow and shallow pivots soon speeding up, turning into long, deep thrusts that drew grunts and moans from both men. Grissom’s jaw was locked open and he knew he had to resemble a fish, but he couldn’t bring himself to care, not when his abused prostate was short circuiting his mental faculties. His hands were scrabbling in the sheets, trying desperately to find something to ground himself with as he met Nick thrust for thrust. Strong fingers tangled with his, drawing his arms up toward his head as the younger man leaned in, pressing himself closer, driving deeper, grinding against the entomologist’s prostate with every push and pull of his hips and drawing unabided tears to the corners of his eyes. They were both so close, Nick’s rhythm had started to stutter and he pressed close, practically laying himself across Grissom. Soft lips pressed to the small line of saltwater at the corner of his eye as they tipped over the edge together, Nick working him through his second orgasm of the night, the small room filling with the wet slap of skin on skin and choked off grunts and gasps.

They lay together for a long moment, each trying to catch his breath, until Nick sat up and disappeared back into the bathroom only to return moments later with a damp washcloth, having disposed of the condom. He took his time cleaning the older man, wiping away the remains of their lovemaking (because Grissom refused to think of it as just  _ sex _ ) before tossing aside the soiled cloth and climbing into bed beside the older man, pulling the comforter back over them and leaning down to land another kiss onto his lips. Grissom hummed into the kiss, pressing himself into the firm body next to him. He ached in the best of ways.  _ Definitely better than those other times,  _ he thought to himself, lids growing heavy. The last thing he heard was a whispered “sleep, gorgeous, I gotcha…” before he was drifting into the darkness.

**\-----**

Grissom woke to bright sun sneaking its way through the curtains. He stretched, feeling the ache of abused muscles as he reached out across the bed to where his memory told him someone else should be, but all he found was a drawn comforter over chilly sheets. He opened his eyes and sat up, backside protesting angrily at the action. The room was empty. His clothes were folded on the dresser and he could see that the washcloth and trash had been taken care of, but the workout bag was missing and there was no sign of the Texan who’d managed to break down his last restraints. Grissom was left alone with a cold bed, a sore ass, and a painful ache deep inside his heart.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just love Angst. Don't you? Don't hate on Nicky he has his reasons! Which you will be finding out shortly...   
> 😏


	11. Chapter 11

The first thing he did when he got back to his townhouse was climb into the shower and scrub at his skin until it was tender and pink, trying in vain to remove any and all remaining traces from the night before. He felt cheap, used, like a pathetic old man who’d let his misguided heart do the steering. He’d given himself over to the other man completely, showing him parts of himself he’d never let  _ anyone  _ see. And he’d just been played with, no more than any other John on the streets paying for a quick good time. He scrubbed at his skin as though he could scrub out the very memories of the night before until even the water pressure stung. Turning his face into the spray, he let the tears fall. 

He’d dressed quickly, calling the reception desk and being told that the room had been paid up.  _ At least he left you with something,  _ the Ecklie in his head told him as he headed through alleys, trying to find his way back to the main Strip and his car. When he finally found it and turned back on his phone, he had five messages from Sara, three from Ecklie, and one from Catherine. Ignoring Sara’s and Ecklie’s for now, he opened the message from Catherine. It only had six words:  _ Say hi to Dallas for me. _ Grissom closed the phone and headed for his town house. 

Toweling off after his shower, he cast a quick glance over at his clock before deciding on how to dress. It was only a quarter past two, plenty of time before he needed to get ready for work, so he settled on an old pair of sweatpants and a shirt leftover from his College Lecturing days. Making himself a mug of tea and a sandwich to ease his now grumbling stomach, he settled into his couch with a journal he’d been meaning to read for a while now. His backside protested every time he shifted. Even with the extra care the younger man had taken in preparing him, stretching out muscles that didn’t get that kind of action was still going to lead to pain.  _ This’ll be an interesting night at work _ , he thought to himself, doing his best to get comfortable and taking a sip of his tea.

**\-----**

To his relief, he walked into the office and immediately was met with a Warrick and a folder. “Nude John Doe out in the desert. Couple of kids out four-wheeling just called him in. Want me to go solo on this one?” Grissom shook his head, accepting the folder and quickly skimming the 911 call. “No, I’ll go with you. I need to get away from my desk before I become one with it.” The young CSI chuckled and followed his supervisor out toward the parking lot. 

The scene was surprisingly clean when they got there. Grissom could see the tire marks from the four-wheeling teens, but to his relief they were far enough away to where he didn’t have to worry about their probable contamination. The John Doe in question was probably in his mid to late thirties, caucasian with dirty blond hair, and wearing nothing but a pair of sneakers. “Odd place to be in nothing but your birthday suit,” Warrick observed, snapping off photos before moving on to case the perimeter. “Stranger places have been seen,” Grissom replied, crouching down to better examine the body and having to bite back a groan of pain. From what he could see there were no visible marks indicating COD, but he could only see the man’s back so there was always the possibility of something on his front. “Brass say the coroner was on his way?” he asked Warrick, rising slowly. The younger man was taking photos of a trampled patch of barbary fig cacti, not looking up to answer. “Yeah, Desert Palm was coming to get him and take him to the lab. Should be here in five if traffic doesn’t get them. And if Jared doesn’t get them lost.” Grissom nodded, looking out into the dark expanse of sand. “Doc Robbins will be able to give us more answers about him. You find any plausible murder weapons?” 

Warrick shook his head as he put his camera away. “Not unless he impaled himself on a cactus. I got nothin.” Grissom appreciated the younger man’s attempt at humor, but until they could be completely certain, that was a plausible cause. “Stranger things have happened,” he said.

**\-----**

The coroner came and took the body back to the lab. As he rolled it over they were able to ascertain that he was not, in fact, impaled by a cactus, though his member was disturbingly swollen and an alarming shade of purple. At least, it would have been alarming had he still been alive. Leaving the remainder of the crime scene to the PD, the two CSIs made their way back to Grissom’s Tahoe. He was just pulling out his keys when his phone started buzzing in his pocket. Thinking it was probably Catherine with something, he pulled it out but as soon as he saw the caller ID, he was turning it off and shoving it back in his pocket. “Wrong number,” was all he said to the raised brow Warrick tossed his way and the two men climbed back into the vehicle. His phone buzzed again with a new message. 

Grissom disappeared into his office as soon as they got back, trusting Warrick to take care of the photos and evidence collected at the scene. He’d just sat down on his computer, though, when Catherine walked in, not even bothering to knock. “So…” she said, closing the door behind her. Grissom raised a brow. “So?” The blonde woman huffed. “Don’t play coy with me, Grissom. You never leave early because you’re “not feeling well”. Not even when you have one of your crippling migraine attacks. We both know where you really went, so tell me about it!” The entomologist’s backside twinged at the reminder but he shoved it down viciously. The last thing he wanted was that reminder right now. The message was still on his phone waiting for him to listen to it, and he was hard pressed to not just delete it all together.  _ You sound like a preteen girl whose boyfriend just ignored her text. Pull yourself together, you are a scientist.  _ He met her blue eyes with his, praying to every deity that she couldn’t see the hurt he was feeling. “Well last night I did. I got some news that hit me harder than I expected it to so I went home.”

“You didn’t answer your phone. You always answer your phone.”

“I took some pills to help me sleep. And besides, it was Ecklie calling. Would  _ you  _ pick it up if you saw it was him calling you after a rough day?” That earned him a raised brow, but to his relief she dropped it. “I talked with Doc Robbins after you left. He told me what he found…” Her face was stoic, but he could see it in her eyes. “Do you think she knew?” he asked her, watching the shifting that went on behind her features. She nodded. “Doc said she was five weeks along. A girl in her line of work? She’d have been testing if a John so much as looked at her sexually. The real question though, is if she’d told her parents. Brass called while you were out. They’re going to try and be here by the end of the week, they’re having trouble arranging transportation.” Grissom could sympathize with them. He’d been giving a guest lecture at Oxford one year and had been late getting back because the weather kept delaying his flight back to the U.S. 

The two fell into a silence that slowly became uncomfortable. Grissom tried to concentrate on the paperwork he’d let build up, but he could feel Catherine’s eyes boring into him. After about ten minutes of it, he finally looked up. “Is there something else I can help you with, Ms. Willows?” he asked her, voice dry. She scrunched her brow, but otherwise showed no reaction to the way he addressed her. “Were things with Dallas really that bad?” she asked, immediately shoving the entomologist’s organs into a vice. “Let the matter go, Catherine,” he told her, proud when his voice remained steady. “I don’t want to talk about it.” One shapely eyebrow reached for her bangs, but the woman turned and left, closing the door behind her with perhaps a bit more force than strictly necessary. Grissom sighed. 

After several hours of staring at the screen, eyes roaming over text that never made it close to processing in his brain, he found himself leaned back in his chair with his phone in hand, thumb hovering over his voicemail button. A large part of him was still sore, and not in the physical sense, about this morning. He had to wonder if everything Nick had said to him had been true, or if it had been an act, like the smile he put on for the crowd when he danced. Grissom wanted it to have been true. Nick had brought out feelings and emotions that Grissom had never felt before, and the idea that it had all been an act for a lay felt like a knife to the gut. Breathing deep through his nose, he hit the button and held the speaker to his ear. “ _ Hey, doc _ ,” the Texan’s voice came through slightly tinny, but it still made the scientist’s gut clench up. “ _ I musta just missed you to a case, but I wanted to say sorry about this mornin’. I’d love to explain if you’ll give me the chance. I had a great time, I hope you did too. Good luck on whatever case, doc. _ ” 

Grissom hit delete, the hollow feeling back with a vengeance as it gnawed at his heart.

**\-----**

It had been nearly a week since what Grissom had silently dubbed “The Night” before shoving the memories into the dark corners of his mind in hopes that they might be forgotten. Doc Robbins had been able to tell them the COD for their John Doe found in the desert; rattlesnake bite to the penis. Tox results suggested the man had been more than a little intoxicated and must have come across it in the desert and decided the best course of action was to pee on it. Why he’d been almost completely naked was still a mystery, but their job was done there. Brass wasn’t getting as far as he’d hoped he was with Richard Carlton. He’d admitted to stalking “Jade”, but wouldn’t admit to killing her, and he had a solid alibi for the night Meredith had been killed. He’d been partaking in drunk Karaoke at a bar in Reno. Brass was holding him on solicitation charges until someone was willing to post his bail, but that still meant they had two unsolved murders. 

Nick had tried to get ahold of him, texting often but not obsessively, and occasionally calling. Grissom deleted the voicemails before he even listened to them. After the third day, they stopped and Grissom tried to tell himself the ache in his chest was just from indigestion. He’d taken to avoiding Catherine too. Every time he crossed paths with the blonde woman, she tried to bring up what had happened the night they’d found out Meredith was pregnant, what had really gone on between him and “Dallas”, but each mention of the dark haired man threatened to knock the lid off the box he’d shoved those memories into. He didn’t blame the younger man, he  _ couldn’t  _ blame him. He’d done what he thought Grissom had wanted, and had done it well. Grissom couldn’t deny it had been one of the best nights of his life. No, he was more angry at himself. He was angry that he’d let himself get so emotionally attached, that he’d let himself read too much into it, that he’d let it hurt him so much. Being honest with himself, that’s why he ignored the younger man’s attempts at contacting him. He’d been hurt that he’d woken up alone, but Nick had tried to contact him. It was his pride that kept him from picking up. 

It was nearing the end of shift, and the next day was his day off. The Blaynes would be coming in a few days to claim their daughter’s body so Grissom and his team were putting in extra time to make sure they had every possible bit of evidence connected with her so she could be laid to rest and they could still have their case when they finally caught their perp. It was already nearly ten o’clock and Grissom’s stomach grumbled unhappily, begging for more than just the coffee and a bag of chips he’d gotten from a vending machine three hours ago. It was just letting out another rather loud protest when there was a knock on his door, followed by the entrance of Catherine. The protest of his stomach was met by a raised brow and a smirk. “Think it’s about time you feed that creature, Grissom?” she asked. Grissom rolled his eyes and closed out his tabs. “As a matter of fact, I was about to make a pilgrimage to the vending machines. Care to join me?” The blonde woman nodded and the two stepped out into the hall. 

To get to the break room, they had to pass by reception. As he walked by, he saw a young man propped against the desk talking to Jenny. Something about him was familiar, and Grissom paused, nearly causing Catherine to run into him. The young man had dark brown hair that was a bit shaggy but brushed back away from his face and he wore tan cargo pants and a white button down over a grey t-shirt. A pair of black, wire framed glasses were perched on his nose and he pushed them up with a knuckle, smiling at something Jenny had just said. The young woman was twirling a piece of auburn hair between her fingers flirtatiously, and Grissom had to wonder if maybe the caller was for her until he caught sight of the older man still standing in the doorway. Hauntingly familiar brown eyes met blue as full lips curled into a wide, toothy grin. “Hey, doc!”

Grissom felt his stomach wrench painfully. Dressed as he was with his hair product free and no makeup, no one would ever have guessed that the man standing in their reception worked a stage in little more than a bright red speedo and chaps. Jenny flushed red at having been caught by one of her supervisors and quickly straightened, tangled hair falling to her shoulder. “Doctor Grissom!” She squeaked out, “I was just about to page you! This is Nick, he said he was here to see you…” her voice tapered out uncertainly as she looked between the two men, Nick calm and collected with his hands shoved into his pockets, Grissom likely looking a bit like a ghost had just popped up and bit him in the ass. In a way, one just had. 

Catherine was the first to break the silence, having been studying Grissom and the man standing before them and coming to a conclusion. “Hello, Dallas.” Nick stepped forward and took her hand, giving it a friendly shake. “Hello, Ms. Willows, it’s good to see you again. Please, call me Nick. They only call me Dallas at work.” The blonde woman’s lips curled into a wide, friendly smile. “Nick… very nice.”

“What are you doing here, Nick?” Grissom asked, not caring how rude it may have come across as. The younger man turned those deep brown eyes back on him, shaking at the locks on his mental box. “You weren’t answering your phone, so I thought I’d come by.” Out of the corner of his vision, Grissom could see Catherine’s eyes widen as the lightbulb in her head went off. She looked from Grissom to Nick, then back before a grin spread across her cheeks. Grissom didn’t like that grin, that grin spelled trouble. “Nick, we were just about to get some coffee from the break room. Would you like to join us?” The younger man’s smile grew, eyes never leaving Grissom’s as he answered. “I’d love to, Ms. Willows.”

Five minutes later found Grissom sitting across the breakroom table from the younger man, Catherine sitting perpendicular to the both of them and grinning into her cup of coffee. “So Nick, tell me a little about yourself.” Nick took a long sip of coffee, eyes glinting in amusement as they held Grissom’s during the action. The entomologist couldn’t breath until he finally set it back on the table and turned those chocolate orbs on the blonde CSI. “Well, Ms. Willows--”

“Please, Nick,” Catherine interrupted, “call me Catherine. Ms. Willows is my mother.” Nick nodded politely before continuing. “Well, Catherine, I’m from Texas, and as you might have guessed by night I’m a dancer at Inamorato, but by day I am a student at UNLV.” Catherine’s brows rose in admiration, and even Grissom couldn’t suppress the surprised look that flashed across his features. It earned him another one of those amused smiles. “What are you studying?” Catherine continued, slowly drawing back the younger man’s attention. “Criminal Justice with a double major in Forensic science,” he said. “My parents both worked in the Political aspect of the criminal world and I have a brother in the DPD, so I guess you could say it was in my blood.” Catherine nodded in appreciation. “Now do your parents know you dance?”

Nick shook his head, taking a quick sip of coffee before continuing. “No, ma’am. They think I’m working at a bar to help pay for school. Pretty sure one of my sisters knows, but she’s not going to tell them. She just occasionally tells me to keep it safe and we leave it at that.” The two shared knowing smiles, the kind only people with experience in the same line of work could share. “So what brings you here today?” the question may have been directed towards Nick, but Catherine’s eyes were on Grissom when she asked the question.  _ Shit,  _ Grissom thought to himself, guts churning and shriveling inside him.  _ I should have known she’d get the answer one way or another. That’s part of why she’s such a great CSI.  _ He felt like a specimen under a scope as two sets of eyes locked onto him, nearly identical smirks on two very different faces. “Well, Catherine,” Nick started, eyes never leaving Grissom’s face. The entomologist felt his chest tighten as the air in his lungs seemed to thin. “Doctor Grissom, here, shared a wonderful night with me and then never returned my call.”

Catherine’s brows disappeared behind her bangs as her head whipped in Grissom’s direction so fast he could swear he heard her vertebrae click. “He didn’t…” her tone was accusatory and disbelieving, and the look she was giving him made him want to curl up and hide, or spill his guts.  _ I bet that’s the look she gives Lindsey when she’s in trouble… _ Nick’s eyes were practically dancing with amusement as he wrapped his fingers around his coffee mug. “Yes, ma’am. I unfortunately had an early class and didn’t wanna wake him, so I snuck out. I tried to call him when I got the chance so I could explain why I wasn’t there, but he kept ducking my calls so I figured I’d come by before class and try again in person.”

There was no accusation in the younger man’s eyes; Catherine was a whole other story, but Nick’s were the only ones he could focus on as he felt shame burning through him. He felt like an idiot. He’d treated the younger man like a stereotype, thinking he’d been used and not letting him explain.  _ Of course he’d had a good reason for not being there _ , the voice that sounded like his mother scolded.  _ After how he’s treated you since you met? Has he ever given you any reason to doubt him?  _ “I’m sorry,” he said, voice surprisingly even. Nick’s smile softened, reminiscent of the one he’d given Grissom that night as he talked him down from his panic attack. “No worries, doc. I figured you were just busy with a case. Actually, if I’d missed you today I was gonna try again on my day off, but I’m glad I caught you now.” 

“Grissom, I’m going to go check with Warrick, see if he needs any help. I’ll see you later…” Catherine’s voice nearly made him jump out of his skin. He’d honestly briefly forgotten the woman was there. Sparing her a glance, and internally wincing at the fire he saw in her eyes, he offered her a nod. It was not going to be pleasant when she got her hands on him later. Nick rose when she did, offering her his hand. “It was good to see you again, Catherine. If you get the chance you should come back by and catch a show.” Catherine’s eyes were glittering in a way that made Grissom distinctly uncomfortable. “Oh, I’m sure I’ll see you again, Nick. Good luck with classes.” Offering him a peck on the cheek, she turned and left the break room. 

Nick remained standing until the door closed behind her retreating figure, then he commandeered her seat, turning it until he could fully face Grissom. Without the makeup he wore for the stage, Grissom could see the faint smatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the tiny scars on his chin and just under his eyebrow. There was a spot on the bridge of his glasses that had worn silver from where he was always pushing them up, and the lenses magnified his eyes, showing the flecks of amber and gold in the cocoa brown. He wanted to know the stories behind the scars, whether he wore contacts on stage or if he just needed the glasses for school, but he wasn’t sure he was privy to that information anymore. Not after the way he’d behaved over the last week. 

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours, doc?” Nick whispered, dimples appearing in the corners of his smile. Grissom’s heart clenched for a whole different reason. “I’m sorry for ducking your calls,” he said, voice quiet and gaze dropping to his now cold cup of coffee. “I don’t know what must have been going through my head, I just--” roughened fingers cut him off, turning his head until he was looking at the younger man. “Doc, you spent the night with a professional seducer and woke up alone the next morning. You don’t have to explain  _ anything _ to me. I wish I could have been there when you woke up, but I was already running late for class and you just looked so gorgeous sleeping that I couldn’t stand the thought of waking you up. That was all on me, darlin’. You have nothin’ to apologize for.” 

The silence between them was broken by the electronic beeping of Nick’s watch. He sighed, dropping Grissom’s chin to turn it off. “That’s my cue, doc. I better be getting to class.” Grissom nodded, rising with him and walking their cups to the sink to be washed later. “Let me walk you out.” Hand hovering over the small of the younger man’s back, he guided him back down the halls and toward reception. Before they got there, though, Nick stopped and turned to face him. “When is your day off?” he asked. Grissom’s eyes lifted in mild surprise, but he answered quickly. “Tomorrow, why?” Nick’s lips curled up in an excited grin. “Because I’d like to take you out to dinner. Eight o’clock at  Señor Frog's?” Grissom nodded, smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “I’ll see you there.” 

He thought the younger man would just turn and leave, but to his surprise, fingers gently gripped his chin, pulling his face close until soft lips met his in a chaste but lingering kiss. “See ya tomorrow night, doc,” Nick said when he pulled back and released the older man. Then, with a wink he was gone, tossing Jenny a pleasant smile and a wave as he disappeared through the door. Still slightly dazed by the abruptness of the kiss, Grissom turned to head back to his office only to find that he’d had an audience for an undetermined amount of time. Catherine and Sara stood just a few yards away. Catherine was grinning like the cat who’d just ate the canary, while Sara looked rather shellshocked. He wondered if the kiss had been intentionally for that purpose, but now wasn’t the time to worry about that. He could ask the younger man tomorrow night when he saw him.

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

The night of the date, Grissom spent longer than he would have liked fretting over what to wear. He wanted to make a good impression, it was the first real date he’d had in years, but at the same time, the man he was meeting had already seen him in varying states of dress. He wasn’t sure what more he could do. Finally settling on a dark blue button down Catherine had once said brought out his eyes and a pair of black slacks, he checked the clock and quickly began getting ready. It was nearly seven, and he knew traffic this time of night was going to be terrible as everyone headed for the Strip for some nightlife. Nick had messaged him the night before saying he’d gone ahead and gotten them a reservation for the name Stokes. He had a night class that didn’t get out until a quarter after, and had told Grissom to go on ahead and check in. He’d see him there. 

Running a brush through his hair and checking his appearance once more in the mirror, he grabbed his keys and was out the door. While he drove, his thoughts filtered back to the day before. Grissom had returned to his office after Nick had left to finish his paperwork, only to be confronted by Catherine as soon as he’d sat down. She’d torn him a new one for the way he’d treated the younger man, calling him every name under the sun and then some. She’d left it with a bid to have fun on the date, and a warning that if he ever did something like that again she’d do some very creative things to various parts of his anatomy. He’d promised to behave himself, not for a minute doubting that she’d make good on those threats. He had no intention of hurting the younger man, not now that he had his senses back.

He’d had maybe an hour of peace before Sara had come in. Her eyes had been red, she’d either been crying, or was about to start. “Who was he?” she’d asked, tone accusatory. “His name is Nick. He’s a friend,” Grissom had replied, folding his hands in front of him. He could see where this conversation was going to go, and it wasn’t going to be attractive. “You kiss all your friends like that?” the young woman had flung, brow scrunched in tangible hurt and anger. 

“I don’t see how this is any of your business, Miss Sidle,” he’d said, tone warning, but Sara was too far gone to notice. “What does he have that I don’t, huh? For three years, I’ve tried. Three years, Gil. I’ve tried to get you to notice me, to get you to accept what I was offering… and you go after the first Dick that comes your way? What is he, some kind of chippy? Some boy toy you can take home and play with when your bed gets cold at night? Does he--”

“That is enough, CSI Sidle,” Grissom had cut her off, voice low and dangerous. He’d had enough of this. He was not going to let her stand there and insult a man she’d never met just because her  _ boss  _ didn’t return her feelings. “I am sorry that I do not return your feelings, but that does not give you the right to insult another. You are  _ dismissed _ , Miss Sidle.” The young woman had just stood there staring at him, eyes wide and wet and chest heaving. Without another word, she’d turned and stormed out of his office, slamming the door behind her with as much force as the hinges would allow. Grissom had sighed and sank back in his chair. 

He reached the Treasure Island Casino at five till eight, leaving his keys with the valet and walking inside. The restaurant he was meeting Nick at was on a second story balcony overlooking the half submerged pirate ship that was the casino’s main attraction. He’d caught a few shows whenever he had time off, and they were always well put together. The hostess for the evening was a petite, Middle Eastern woman who smiled brightly when he walked up, asking for the name and checking her computer when he told her. “Alright, sir, it looks like you’re the first to arrive. If you’ll follow me, I will take you to your table.” He followed her through the crowded tables, the sound of mariachi mingling with chattering parties and the aroma of mexican food, adding to the atmosphere and serving to make his stomach grumble slightly. The hostess led him to a small table for two in an out of the way corner, a bottle of wine already chilling in an ice bucket. “Alright, sir, here you go. Here’s a menu, and your waiter will be here shortly.” He thanked her, laying his napkin across his lap and taking a look at the menu. Inside his pocket, his phone buzzed. Pulling it out, he smiled when he saw the message was from Nick.  _ “Class ran a little long. Let me get changed fast and I’ll be there in thirty. Don’t start without me! ;)”  _

“Don’t worry about it,” Grissom sent back. “I’m not going anywhere, I’ll just sit here and enjoy the music.”

“ _ It would figure that you’d be one of those people who actually enjoy Mariachi music.”  _ Nick sent back. Grissom’s smile widened and he set his phone on the table, returning his attention back to the menu. The fish tacos sounded promising, but then so did the Chili Rancheros… He was still pondering when his waiter came up, introducing himself as Jason and asking if there was anything he could get Grissom to start off with. The entomologist ordered a glass of water, but declined anything else, saying he was waiting on someone and he’d rather them order together. Jason nodded in understanding, promising to be right back with that glass of water.

**\-----**

Grissom checked his watch again, anxiety starting to claw at his insides. It was nearly half past nine and Nick still hadn’t shown up. Grissom had messaged him a few times, but had not received any response.  _ Maybe he just got caught up with something?  _ He thought to himself, trying to rationalize. The ice in the wine bucket had long since been reduced to its liquid state and Jason had started giving him sympathetic looks almost twenty minutes ago, making a habit of coming by often to check on him.  _ Ten more minutes,  _ he told himself.  _ I’ll give him ten more minutes, then I’ll leave.  _ A small part of him admittedly wondered if he’d been stood up, but he quickly brushed it away. Nick had said that his class had run long and he needed to go home and change. Maybe he’d just gotten stuck in traffic and let his phone die.  _ Do you really think someone like Nick would just let his phone die?  _ The obnoxious little Ecklie voice was trying to make a comeback, but Grissom shoved it away. 

Ten minutes rolled around, and this time when Jason came by Grissom asked for the check. The young man waved him off, saying the wine had been complimentary, so instead Grissom just left a generous tip and headed back down to the valet. It had started raining at some point, but he waved off the offer of an umbrella. It was just a little rain, he wasn’t going to melt. He took his time driving home, watching the haze of the neon lights through the downpour. Even in this weather people bustled up and down the Strip popping into casinos and shops, working girls with their makeup running grouped together in the alleys that shared connecting roofs, occasionally venturing out to try and catch a passing John before scurrying back for cover like startled mice. His mother had always told him rain had a way of washing away masks, letting you see the truth behind the exterior. 

The deluge had only gotten worse as Grissom pulled into the driveway of his townhouse. As he put the Tahoe in park, his porch light flickered on, revealing a huddled figure sitting on the steps. Cautiously curious, he climbed out of his car and started up the walk. As he got closer, the unidentifiable figure became a young man dressed in jeans and what had probably once been a nice white shirt, but was now smeared in dirt and rubbish and something that looked suspiciously like  _ blood _ . The figure looked up as Grissom approached, offering him a wan, bloody smile. “Hiya, doc. Sorry for missing our date…” Grissom’s eyes were saucers. “Nick? Nicky, what happened?”

The younger man’s face was a mass of cuts and bruises, nose and lips bloody and one eye already rapidly darkening. His shirt was torn in places across the shoulders and sleeves and he was cradling one arm to his chest protectively. He also appeared to be missing his shoes, feet caked in mud. He was shivering, clothes soaked through and clinging to him like a second skin. Grissom had to wonder how long he’d been sitting there waiting as he quickly bounded past him to unlock the door before helping Nick up, guiding him down the hall and into the bathroom. “Sorry about the mess,” he chattered as Grissom carefully sat him down on the toilet and turned to start the shower. He had to get the younger man warm and cleaned before he could see the full extent of the injuries. Grissom just shook his head. “It’s just dirt. I’ve tracked home worse after some cases. Now sit tight, I’ll be right back.”

Leaving Nick in the rapidly steaming bathroom, he headed back into the living room, closing and dead bolting the front door before grabbing a pair of scissors and his well stocked first aid kit. On the way back to the bathroom, he grabbed a couple towels from the linen closet to dry the other man off, and one to haphazardly throw onto the puddles in the hall. Nick was curled in on himself when Grissom got back, head dipping down toward his knees and the older man could see deep scratches across the back of his neck. “Here,” he said, kneeling in front of him and taking the scissors in hand. “I’m assuming there is no emotional connection to this shirt?” He kept his voice light through the worry, relieved when he saw the younger man’s lips curl up in a smile. “Just go gently with me, doc. It’s my first time.”  _ If he can still joke, he’s going to be fine,  _ Grissom thought to himself, carefully cutting away at the shirt until he could pull it off and see the full extent of the injuries. 

Whoever was responsible had really done a number on the Texan. His shoulder blades were a mass of scrapes, almost like he’d been dragged, and there were large bruises littering his latissimus dorsi and flanks, tracing all the way around to his abdomen. The claw marks he’d seen earlier went from above the hairline on the back of his neck all the way around to his left pectoral. There was superficial bruising across his chest, but deeper ones along his upper and lower arms, and the way he was still holding his wrist suggested a sprain or possibly even a fracture. Grissom could see the deep splits in his bottom lip, but there didn’t appear to be any broken teeth which told him a lot of that blood had likely just been a bitten tongue or cheek. His nose didn’t appear broken, though it had definitely been bashed pretty good, and while the black eye looked alarming, his cornea looked mostly unharmed so he didn’t worry. “They didn’t punch you while you were wearing your glasses, did they?” he asked. Nick shook his head. “No, I wasn’t wearing them tonight. Wanted to look my best for our date…” he was cut off by a violent shiver.

Grissom wanted to practically shove the younger man into the shower, but the criminologist in him reminded him that Nick was technically a crime scene and thus he had a job to do. “Alright, Nicky. We’re gonna get you warmed up, but first I gotta take some pictures, okay? You know the drill when something like this happens…” the younger man nodded, offering him another bloody grin. “Alright, doc, but I warn you, my gorgeous face just might break your camera…” Grissom smiled, helping the Texan up and leading him into the bedroom and snagging his camera from the drawer on his way. Nick cocked a brow. “Keeping a camera in your bedroom? Who knew you were so kinky, doc?” This drew a blush to the older man’s cheeks but he refused comment, making sure the light was right before he started taking pictures. He made sure to get multiple angles of each injury, Nick following each command like it was something he’d done before. Maybe he had? When Grissom was done with what was visible, he set the camera down and eyed Nick’s jeans. They were soaked and dirty, but didn’t appear to be exceptionally torn. He cleared his throat. “Did whoever… did they, ah…” Nick shook his head. “No. They were only interested in my top half. They probably still need to come off, though…” 

He reached to undo the belt still holding them up, but the second he flexed his injured wrist, Nick’s face crumbled in pain. “Shit!” he swore, arm returning to its guarded position across his chest. Watery brown eyes met Grissom’s. “Pretty sure it’s just a sprain, but it’s still pretty useless. Little help?” The entomologist nodded, fingers quickly releasing the belt and zipper, easing the soggy material down well muscled thighs until their own weight dragged them down the rest of the way. Grissom felt his heart rate speed up when he realized the younger man had been commando. The effect it might have had was decidedly ruined by the now rather violent tremors that were wracking the naked body before him. Doing a quick check to make sure the younger man hadn’t lied about any further injuries, he wrapped an arm around his narrow waist and led him back into the bathroom. The clothing would need to be bagged for later, but for now the criminologist part of his brain had been relegated to the background. 

Grissom shoved the trembling man under the spray as gently but quickly as he could, watching as Nick immediately went limp under the heat and fell against the wall, sigh of relief audible over the sound of water against tile. After barely a moment of hesitation, the older man was stripping as well, grabbing up the bar of soap as he climbed in and pulled the other against his chest. Nick’s head lolled against Grissom’s shoulder as he was turned fully into the torrent. He didn’t move as Grissom gently soaped up a washcloth, soothing it over bruises and tender skin, taking special care around the open wounds. Fingers traced the path of the cloth, testing for fractured ribs or possible internal bleeding, but to his relief found none. He turned him around to get his back, noting that while the scrapes across his shoulders were fairly deep, there didn’t appear to be any debris in the wounds. The washcloth ventured further down, across tanned muscles and darkened bruises until it was brushing the tops of tanned globes, drawing a shiver from the man in his arms. 

“Nicky, I’m gonna need you to stay upright for a minute, can you do that?” Grissom asked. The man nodded, but Grissom could tell he was about to drop off in the wake of his adrenaline crash. He gently pressed him back against the tiled wall so he wouldn’t have to be completely free standing before dropping to his knees, washcloth briskly rubbing up and down strong legs and between thighs. As he washed the younger man’s groin he did his best to keep clinical, eyes level with his naval, and that’s when he noticed it. It was a tattoo in the V of his hips, half hidden with bruises but depicting a small blue grey bird in flight, one talon clenched around what appeared to be a bluebell.  _ Strange tattoo for a male dancer to have _ . Telling himself that there would be plenty of time for that later, he quickly moved down to check the younger man’s feet. The mud had washed off long ago, revealing several minor cuts to the bottom of his right foot, but to his relief, that appeared to be the extent of it. 

Grabbing his shampoo bottle on the way back up, he squirted a small puddle into his hand before pulling Nick back into his chest. The younger man was heavy against him, and Grissom had a feeling he was only awake through sheer force of will. “Almost done, Nicky,” he said softly, rubbing the shampoo into his hair, working out tangles as gently as he could, fingertips prodding along the scalp in a still further search for more damage. The younger man hissed in a breath when Grissom’s fingers came into contact with a large knot hidden under the sudsy locks. “Sorry,” the scientist murmured before slowly backing him into the spray, cradling the back of his neck in one hand while the other combed through soapy brown locks, rinsing out the shampoo until the strands shone. Nick’s eyes were closed against the spray, and Grissom took the moment to gently rub his fingers against the crusted blood that had covered his face. The injuries looked much less serious when he was done. “Okay, Nicky, I’m all done. Let’s get you dried off, okay?”

The only response he received was a small nod as the younger man visibly pulled together enough strength to take most of his weight off the entomologist, giving him the chance to turn off the water and grab up the towels, quickly wrapping one around his waist before draping the other around Nick’s shoulders, patting at the water that still clung to him. He worked gently but efficiently, drying off the younger man and then securing the towel around his hips before leading him back into the bedroom. He sat him down on the foot of the bed before heading over to his dresser, rummaging for a minute until he could come out with two pairs of boxers and an old t-shirt. He dropped his towel and pulled on one pair of boxers before bringing the other two articles back to Nick. Both were going to be baggy on him, but Grissom figured they’d work for now. 

Manipulating heavy limbs, he soon had the younger man dressed and was pulling back the sheets. Nick moved willingly with Grissom’s urgings, crawling under the sheets and immediately curling around his injured wrist. Grissom brushed a loose clump of hair off his forehead before heading back for the bathroom, collecting the towels to throw into the hamper on his way. There were ace bandages in the kit, and he wanted to wrap up that wrist before the younger man injured it worse in his sleep. Five minutes later he was back at the bedside, wrap in hand and a glass of water with a couple pain pills sitting on the nightstand. 

He pried the purpled limb free and straightened it as carefully as he could, but still winced in sympathy when Nick let out a pained groan, good eye squinting at him in a glare. His other one had already swollen shut. “I know, Nicky,” he hushed, palming his cheek, “but I have to make sure it isn’t broken so I can wrap it.” He could feel the sleepy brown eye on him as he slowly and carefully rotated it up, down, and side to side, tapping at lax fingers and listening for any noise he knew he shouldn’t hear. When everything checked out well, he made a mental reminder to get Nick somewhere to get it x-rayed and started wrapping it. “Alright, Nicky,” he said, setting the wrist back down on the bed, “I need you to sit up real fast so I can give you something for the pain, then we can go to sleep, I promise.” The look he received reminded Grissom of a petulant child who had just been told he had to eat his broccoli, but the younger man did move to sit up, pushing up with his good arm and letting Grissom help him the rest of the way. He accepted the pills and a sip of water before sliding back toward the bed, already mostly asleep and leaving the older man to guide him back to the mattress. 

Walking around to the other side of the bed, he climbed in and tugged the lax body closer to him. Nick was asleep within seconds, mummy-wrapped arm stretched out on the bed in front of him. Grissom just lay awake for a long while, chin pressed into the top of brown hair that smelled of his shampoo and made something primal inside him curl up contently, listening to the deep, even breathing of the man who shared his bed. Every so often the breaths would rattle as they left his lungs, and Grissom had to hope that it was residual from spending so much time in soaked clothes and not something he may have missed. Stress and the warmth of a body pressed into his conspired against him, and before he knew it he was following the younger man into the realm of sleep. 

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Grissom was the first to wake, carefully removing himself from the bed and making his way into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. The muddy footprints Nick had left last night had dried, so while he waited on the coffee to brew he swept them up and checked his phone. He had one new message from Catherine telling him that the Blaynes would be arriving the next day, but that was all, which surprised him because he’d fully expected her to ask about the date.  _ Probably saving that for work tonight _ , he thought to himself. By that point, though, the coffee was ready so he headed back for the kitchen to pull out two mugs. He was taking a guess that Nick drank coffee, drawing evidence from his own college days when every classmate he knew was showing up for their first classes with travel mugs, even if their first class wasn’t until three. 

He was just finishing preparing his own cup when he heard a shuffle behind him. “Ya know, doc, if you were trying to give somebody a taste of their own medicine, it does well to not be hiding in the kitchen in your underwear when the person wakes up.” The accent had been made thicker with sleep, and Grissom hid his smile behind a sip of coffee as he turned around. Nick was leaning in the doorway, one cheek showing deep pillow creases, his good hand clutching the hem of borrowed boxers to keep them from falling around his ankles. Grissom’s primal feeling sat up, heat curling in his gut that he quickly tamped down. The younger man was hurt and he still had no idea what had happened. He was relieved to see that the swelling in Nick’s eye had gone down, bloodshot brown open and matching the smile that curled full lips. “Would you like some coffee?” the older man asked, catching Nick’s enthusiastic nod before turning back to the pot. He was just reaching for the milk when he felt arms wrap around his waist and a forehead press against the back of his head. “Thanks for takin’ care of me, doc. I’m sorry for missin’ our date.” 

Grissom turned his head, catching the corner of a stubbled jaw in a light peck. “Breakfast first. Then explanations.” Shooing the younger man toward the table with his coffee, the entomologist started on breakfast. He could feel Nick’s eyes on him as he mixed up the batter for pancakes, having taken stock of the contents of his refrigerator and cabinets and determining that he needed to go grocery shopping. Looking at the other man over his shoulder, he saw him hunched over his coffee cup, both hands wrapped tight around the steaming mug, but his eyes were bright as they watched Grissom move around the small kitchen. “How did you find my house?” the older man asked, plating up their pancakes and grabbing the syrup en route to the table. Nick accepted it with a thanks, taking a bite before answering. “I have a friend in the postal service. Not a client,” he added at the raised brow he received, “just a friend. I actually called him up a few days ago and got your address from him. I figured if I couldn’t catch you at work, I’d come by and catch you here.”

Grissom had to admit it was a sound plan, taking a bite of his pancakes and watching as the younger man practically inhaled his.  _ The last time he probably ate was lunch yesterday.  _ The men chewed in comfortable silence before Grissom spoke again. “That tattoo on your side, that’s a mockingbird isn’t it?” Nick blushed slightly, swallowing his mouthful of pancake before responding. “Yeah, it is.  Mimus polyglottos,  Northern Mockingbird. It’s a little girly, but it was my first one and I honestly just like studying birds. I got into Ornithology when I was a kid going bird watching with my granddad, and I guess I just never outgrew it.” The entomologist smiled, watching the way the man across from him seemed to stiffen, then relax when he realized he wasn’t going to be judged for his hobby. Grissom raced hissing cockroaches in his spare time, who was he to judge a man with a bird tattoo. 

The two finished their breakfast, Nick helping him clear away the dishes despite Grissom’s protests before taking their mugs into the living room, the younger man immediately curling into him as they got comfortable on the couch and Grissom turned on the news. “Nicky,” he nudged after a long bout of amicable silence, “I need you to tell me what happened last night. Was it a mugging? Did something go south with a… a client?” he felt the younger man tense against him for a moment before he sat up. “I think y’all got the wrong guy in custody, doc…” he said. Grissom kept silent, waiting for him to continue in his own time. “My apartment isn’t far from the Strip so I decided to just walk after I changed. Once I started out though, this guy was following me. I didn’t think much until I took some of my shortcuts and he was still there.” 

Grissom felt his guts twist painfully at the similarities between what Nick was telling him, and what had happened to Meredith. “He caught me in an alley. I’d started to panic a bit and ducked in, not realizing it was one that deadended behind a laundromat. He followed me in and that’s when I realized there were two of them, one had been waiting, like me goin’ into this alley had been planned. They knocked me down and roughed me up a bit, one of them had a knife but I knocked it away from him, got in a few shots of my own. They left me there, figured I’d probably just bleed out or whatever. They weren’t very smart, didn’t get me near as bad as they thought they did.” One corner of Nick’s mouth curled up, pulling at the scabs that had formed over the splits in his lip. 

“How did you get all the way here, then? Why didn’t you call?” Grissom asked, thoughts whirling in his head.  _ Nick had almost died last night…  _

“Broke my phone when they pushed me down. The short one tried to grab me by the hair, scratched the back of my neck. Soon as I could get my wind back I caught a cab and came here. Figured you’d probably be home sooner or later, just didn’t expect it to start raining.” 

“I’m so sorry, Nicky,” Grissom said, guilt rearing its ugly head; guilt at the thoughts he’d had about being stood up, guilt at not heading straight home. He knew the thoughts were irrational, there was no way he could have known and nothing he could have done, but that didn’t stop them. Seemingly sensing his inner turmoil, the Texan leaned in close, nearly nose to nose with the older man. “Stop overworking that big brain of yours, doc, or smoke’s gonna start comin’ out your ears. I’m fine now, you took good care of me and patched me up beautifully. Now stop all that stupid self-doubt you’re starting to be known for.” The speech was punctuated by a kiss to the tip of Grissom’s nose, startling the man enough to make him lose his train of thought. “I want you to come in to work with me tonight,” he said, meeting those hypnotic brown eyes. “I want to get our ME to check you out, make sure that wrist isn’t anything worse and that that knock down drag out in the alley didn’t leave you with anything more than a few scrapes and bruises. I also want you to give a description of the men who did this to you to the PD. Did you get enough of a look at them to give us some details?”

Nick’s grin turned almost feral. “Even better, doc. I can Identify them.

**\-----**

The two men spent most of the rest of the day on the couch. Grissom read up on some new academic journals while Nick borrowed his laptop to order a new phone and get the notes from his missed lectures from a classmate. They’d need to get Nick better fitting clothes before heading into the crime lab, so after getting changed Grissom bagged both of their clothes from the night before, grabbed his camera, and took Nick to the younger man’s apartment so he could change. It was a modest place just on the border of suburbia and town life, perfect for a working college student. Though he was certain Nick made enough money to afford something nicer, he had a feeling a lot of it went into school. The younger man had told him on his way over that he was about nine months out from graduating, provided he could keep up with classwork in between everything that was going on outside of school. 

Nick had come back out in a pair of white wash jeans and a dark green long-sleeved shirt that brought out the amber in his eyes. Despite it being almost 80, Grissom knew the sleeves were to hide the damage on his arms. The two had climbed back into Grissom’s Tahoe and been off. 

The first thing they did upon arriving at the lab was head for Doc Robbins’ office. David was already in there just stitching back up someone’s latest victim and told them the doc would be back in a second; he’d gone to take some paperwork to Brass, but they were welcome to stay. Nick hopped up on an unused gurney and spent the waiting time letting his eyes wander around the room, taking in the different tools and machines, evidently unconcerned that he was sitting on something used to transport bodies in varying states. “Ya really know how to show a guy a good time, doc,” he said, looking at Grissom out of the corner of his eye, lips curled in amusement. “Our first date, and you bring me to autopsy with the slabs…” one brow rose suggestively and Grissom was grateful David had taken the body to the freezer and wasn’t there to see him blushing. To his relief, Doc Robbins hobbled in a minute later, looking from Nick to Grissom and raising a questioning brow. “I think this one’s a little fresh for me, Gil, though by the looks of him he could be one of mine.” Nick snorted and Grissom cracked a grin. “Al, this is Nick. Nick, this is Doctor Al Robbins, he’s our coroner. Al, Nick was attacked last night. I want some x-rays and some tests to make sure there’s nothing more serious than what I initially found.” 

One greying eyebrow reached for the ceiling, but the doc didn’t ask any questions. “Alright, young man, let’s see the damage.” Nick hopped off the gurney and pulled his shirt over his head, handing the discarded article to Grissom and doing a small turn. Doc Robbins whistled. “Gil, you sure you didn’t learn some kind of black magic and bring one of my stiffs to life? What the hell happened to you, kid?” Before Nick could respond, Grissom spoke up. “We think it’s the same guy who killed Meredith Blayne and Imani Howard.” Understanding lit pale brown eyes and the coroner was motioning Nick over to the x-ray machine. “Alright, Nick. I need you to lay down for me so we can get a peek at what’s going on under that calico skin of yours.” The young man hopped up on the table and lay back, hissing as hot skin met cold metal. Doc Robbins ran the x-ray over his chest and indicated arm before motioning the prone man to sit up. “Alright, I’m assuming Doctor Grissom already took photos and checked you over last night, am I right?” Nick nodded, shooting the entomologist a grin that earned them both a few pointed looks from the coroner before he was reaching for a needle and a vial. “Alright, I’m going to take some blood that the two of you can run up to testing, but I’m also going to go ahead and give you a tetanus shot and some Penicillin V as a precaution.” 

Thirty minutes later Nick had his shirt back on and they were looking at his x-rays. Grissom was relieved to see no fractures or signs of internal bleeding, though there was some scarring from older injuries that made Grissom wonder. Doc Robbins was labeling the vial of blood before bagging it and handing it over to Grissom. “There you go, Gil. You did a pretty good job cleaning him up last night.” He turned to Nick. “Young man, it was a pleasure to meet you. Your wrist looks like it should be fine but just be easy with it for the next week so you don’t tear any of those tendons.” The young man nodded, offering the Coroner a smile and a handshake with his good hand. “It was a pleasure meeting you too, Doctor Robbins. Thank you for the help.” 

Bidding the amputee goodbye, Grissom steered the Texan back out into the hallway. Next stop on the metaphorical list was Greg’s lab to get the young man to run the blood and bagged clothing. They could hear whatever screamo metal the labrat was listening to from down the hall, and by the time they drew even with the doorway they could see the kid headbanging over an air guitar. Nick cracked a grin. “Is he always like this?” he shouted over the noise. Grissom nodded. “Unfortunately.” Beelining for the stereo, he quickly hit the stop button, the silence following even more deafening than the music. “What the--” Greg cut himself off as he spun, catching sight of his boss. “Greg, I need you to test this blood sample for any contaminants, and I need you to run these clothing, see if you can pull any DNA from them.” The young labrat took the proffered bags eagerly. “Ooh, we get a case I didn’t hear about? How exciting!” He was mid-turn back to his table when he caught sight of Nick, still lingering by the door with his hands shoved into his pockets. 

Grissom watched as the labrat’s eyes narrowed before growing to the size of saucers. “I know you!” He exclaimed, pointing at the now rather startled Texan. “You’re Dallas!” Both men stared at the technician in surprise, though Nick seemed to recover a little sooner, easy grin curling his lips as he held out a hand. “Only on stage, Greggo. Call me Nick.” Grissom couldn’t help but notice how he’d let his accent flow a little thicker as the two young men shook hands, Greg telling him that he’d caught a show with some buddies and that the other man had some serious moves. As he watched, the entomologist wasn’t sure why he’d been nearly so surprised. Greg Sanders was a surprise at every turn, the fact that he’d visited a place like Inamorato just seemed to make perfect sense. He cleared his throat. “Greg, if you could return your attention to the matter at hand, that would be great.” The California native gave a dramatic sigh before turning back to the evidence he’d been handed. “You got it, Boss Man. Nick, it was a pleasure meeting you in person. Maybe I’ll see you around!” 

Leaving the tech to his work and loud music, Grissom led Nick back out into the hall again. “Alright, Nick. We should probably go see the Captain. You sure you can identify the people who did this to you?” he motioned to the visible cuts and bruises. Nick nodded. “Yeah, I’m positive I know who they are. It’s time to put an end to this, doc. For Imani and for Meredith.” There was a fire burning in the younger man’s eyes that made something akin to pride swell up in Grissom’s chest. The care this man had for their victims was something he didn’t often see. Whatever he decided to do upon graduation, he was going to be successful. They chatted idly as they made their way toward the main PD to talk to Brass. En route, however, they were delayed by the sudden appearance of Catherine. She greeted Nick with a warm hug before evidently noticing his injuries, her pale blue eyes going wide as she took in the cuts and bruises, traveling down to the brace around his wrist. “Nick, what happened? Please tell me Grissom didn’t do this.” She shot the entomologist a heatless glare as the injured man burst out laughing. “No, ma’am. Doc here has been nothing but a perfect gentleman. I was jumped last night by who I’m pretty sure were the men who killed Imani and Meredith. In fact, we were just on our way up to talk to your captain about it.” The blonde woman nodded, giving him one more hug and a peck to the cheek, promising to see him again later before disappearing as quickly as she’d appeared.

They found the balding captain in his office, getting together the remaining paperwork for when the Blaynes came to retrieve their daughter. “Hey, Jim. I may have something new for the Howard/ Blayne case.” The shorter man looked up quickly, eyes giving away his veiled excitement. “Do tell, Gil, because right now all we have on Carlton is solicitation. Who’s the kid?” he added, finally noticing Nick. Grissom smiled. “This is our new witness. This is Nick Stokes. He was attacked last night by who he believes to be the people responsible for the death of our two exotic dancers.” Brass’s eyebrows were reaching for his nonexistent hairline as he stood, ushering the men out into the hall and toward one of the interrogation rooms. As soon as they were seated and he had the recorder set, he folded his hands and met Nick’s eyes across the table. “Alright, mister Stokes. Please state your name for the record and tell us who you believe did this.”

Nick caught Grissom’s eye and offered him a tilt of the lips. “Nicholas Stokes. Last night I was attacked in an alley by two men. For the record, I can identify these men as Doug Madding, owner of the Neon High strip club, and his bouncer Bruno Marioli.”

  
  



	14. Chapter 14

Grissom and Nick had spent much of the remainder of the night in Grissom’s office. Brass had rallied together a squad to bring in Doug Madding and Bruno Marioli for questioning, promising to get back to Grissom with updates. At a quarter past three, Grissom got the call. Madding was in custody and being readied for questioning. Marioli had been shot resisting arrest and had been pronounced dead at the hospital. Brass had requested Nick to be present in the observation room while Madding was being questioned, so Grissom had walked him up there, keeping one hand firmly on his shoulder as they stared through the one way glass. Madding looked a little worse for wear. There was a yellowing bruise across one cheek from where Grissom assumed Nick had taken a swing at him and he was glaring across the table at Brass as the captain listed off each accusation and the club owner’s lawyer looked increasingly startled at what she’d gotten herself into. 

After nearly two hours, Brass got his answers. Imani had been killed because she’d planned on leaving the business. She’d wanted to go back to school and have more of a hand raising her son, and Madding had known that the loss of her act would cost him money so he’d had Bruno off her. Meredith had been killed out of anger. When she’d found out she was pregnant she’d told Madding, who’d told her in response to get rid of it. When she refused, saying she’d rather leave the club than give up the child, he’d had Bruno follow her home. Doc Robbins would later find deep but healing scratch marks across his face and upper chest from where the petite blonde had fought back. Nick, though, Nick had almost been a fluke. Madding had seen him hanging around with both of the women and come to the conclusion that he’d been responsible for their actions, their wanting to get out or talk to the cops, so he and Bruno had traced his movements for a while until they found just the right time. “Those dumbass whores shoulda stuck to what they were good at instead of getting themselves involved in other people’s business,” Madding had growled during the interrogation. Grissom and Nick had still been in the observation room and heard every word. Anger had burned bright inside Grissom’s chest, and it was only Nick’s hand on his arm that kept him from marching in there.

After Madding had been booked and taken to a holding cell, Nick had needed to leave for a class. Grissom had offered to take him, but the younger man had just smiled and told the entomologist he had work to do so he’d just call a cab. Nick had left with a kiss to the older man’s cheek and a promise to see him later, but as he was heading out the door, Grissom had grabbed him by the sleeve and reeled him back in. “Meredith’s parents are coming tomorrow to claim her body,” he said, voice low. “I’d like you to be there when they do.” The younger man had nodded, understanding in his eyes as he leaned forward and offered Grissom one more soft, lingering kiss. “Let me know the time, and I’ll be here. But now I really have to go. See ya later, doc…” and with that Nick was gone, door swinging closed with a soft  _ click _ and leaving Grissom still standing in the middle of his office, wondering what it was about the younger man that made his knees weak. 

**\-----**

Seven pm the next evening found Grissom waiting in the LVPD lobby, pacing absentmindedly. The Blaynes would be arriving within the hour, and he’d already contacted Nick, who said he’d be over after his show. The two had messaged back and forth frequently since they'd last seen each other. He’d learned that Nick found his Criminal Law and Procedures professor to be drier than Death Valley, but that he found his Child Abuse class fascinating. Grissom knew there was likely a story or two behind that information, but he didn’t feel it was his place to pry. The younger man might as well be a stranger to him for all he knew of him, but he hoped to get to know the Texas native more. 

He was still lost on that train of thought when a hand came down on his arm, halting his progress midstep. “Hey, doc, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep that up.” Turning in the direction of the voice, he found himself met with a pair of laughing brown eyes. Nick must have snuck in without him seeing. The younger man was dressed in a pair of khakis and a royal blue button down, his glasses perched high on his nose. Grissom had half been expecting him to show up in the low-slung jeans and flannel shirt he danced in, but instead the younger man looked like he’d just left class. In fact, were it not for the layer of foundation hiding the still healing injuries to his face and the slight tell of hastily removed lip rouge, one would never have suspected that the man standing before him spent most evenings on a stage in nothing but chaps and a red speedo. 

“I’m not late, am I?” Nick asked, breaking Grissom from his revery. “I tried to get here as soon as I could but Jimmy needed me for something and then I wanted to change first.” Grissom shook his head. “No, no, they haven’t arrived yet. You look nice.” The entomologist felt his neck warm slightly as the man in front of him smirked. “You expected me in my uniform, didn’t’ya, doc…” Grissom quickly looked away, and to his relief saw a blond couple in their mid forties walking in through the glass doors. The wife was clinging to her husband’s arm, eyes slightly red under the cosmetic attempt at fixing it, and they both looked a little lost. Grissom felt for them. “Mr. and Mrs. Blayne?” he called, gaining their attention. “I’m Gil Grissom, I’m here to take you to your daughter.” He reached out and shook Mr. Blayne’s hand, offering a nod and a smile to Mrs. Blayne. The woman returned it with a watery one of her own. “This is Nick,” he added, motioning to the young man standing next to him. Nick offered them a nod and a smile. 

“Are you an officer, too?” Mrs. Blayne asked, accent much thicker than her daughter’s had been, but Grissom could see the resemblances between them. Nick shook his head. “No ma’am, not yet anyway. I knew your daughter, we were in organic chemistry and social working together. My condolences for your loss, she was a top student and a good friend. Everybody loved her, especially the teachers, and we could all tell she was very passionate about what she did.” Mrs. Blayne nodded, offering him a smile. “Yes, everybody loved Meredith. So bright and sunny, she couldn’t stop talking about coming here when she got that scholarship, then she said she’d gotten a job, we thought it had been perfect…” Nick nodded along. “Yes ma’am, a cocktail waitress at Circus Circus. She told me her favorite part was getting to dress up in the different costumes each night, and that she got to watch the shows for free. She actually got me in to meet the firebreathers once. I’d agreed to walk her home and in trade she’d introduced us. She’s going to be missed by everyone who knew her.”

As Grissom listened to the younger man regale the dead woman’s family with stories of how good their daughter had been, he fell even more in love, but worry gnawed at his insides with how easily Nick evidently found it to lie, sliding from one persona to the other as he fed the grieving parents what they wanted to hear. As he caught the younger man’s eye, though, he felt the worry fade. Nick was a showman living a double life, he’d learned to adapt and tell people what they wanted to hear, but he also knew how to be sincere. He had genuinely thought the world of Britain, and wanted her parents to know that she had been well and truly cared about. 

Doctor Robbins was ready for them; it was time to send Meredith Blayne to rest. Grissom led them down to the morgue. Mrs. Blayne broke down in her husband’s arms, Mr. Blayne’s eyes were wet but he remained strong for his wife. Discreetly out of view, Nick clung to Grissom’s hand like a vice. Arrangements were made to get the body back to England, and then the Blaynes were being escorted out and Meredith was being wheeled away for preparation. Grissom led Nick back to his office. 

  
The younger man didn’t say a word until they were curled up together on the couch, a trip to the men’s room led to the return of yellowing injuries and preventing Grissom’s shirt from maintaining the imprint. “She was pregnant,” Nich uttered, voice uneven. “He killed her because she was pregnant and didn’t want to get an abortion. What kind of a monster  _ does  _ that?” Grissom just held him tighter. He had no explanation. The human species was an interesting one, righteous indignation over one thing while turning a blind eye to another. “She’d been talking about this boyfriend,” Nick continued, not turning his head away from the older man’s shoulder. “She met him in one of her classes, they’d been going out for about seven months now, and she was always talking about maybe someday having children. I guess they finally decided on it. Unless it was an accident… she’d have made a great mother…” Damp heat bloomed across Grissom’s shirt. “She really had worked at Circus Circus, the money just hadn’t been enough to support tuition so she’d turned to stripping. All because she wanted to leave…” Nick’s voice was choked off by tears as he turned his face fully into Grissom’s shirt. Grissom didn’t say a word, instead running his fingers through silky strands in his own way of soothing. No, words would do nothing for any of them right now. All he could do was just hold on.


	15. Nine Months Later

Grissom pushed through the crowd, working his way up toward the back where he could see but still be as unobtrusive as possible. Finding a spot that would suit his needs, he sat and pulled out the program he’d been handed upon entering. UNLV was printed in blocky red lettering, beneath which was stamped the school’s mascot. Nick had pointed out once that he’d always thought Reb looked a bit like Yosemite Sam, and Grissom had never been able to look at the mustached emblem the same way since. He flipped through, reading through the order of events, noting recognition at a few of the guest speakers.  _ The College of Arts and Sciences has an impressive number of graduates this year _ , he thought to himself as he skimmed the names, recognizing a few by reputation until he found the one he was looking for. By that time, the opening scores for the procession had begun, and Grissom joined the hoard eagerly searching out the face he’d come to see.

Nick had been a little hesitant to extend the invitation. It was an evening ceremony, and he’d said that it was alright if the older man missed it, that he’d just see him afterward, but Grissom had made a special promise that he’d come despite work. When he’d told Catherine that he was taking the day off, she’d grinned wide and told her to give Nick a hug and a kiss of congratulations for her. 

From where Grissom sat he could see Judge and Mrs. Stokes up near the front, along with whom Grissom assumed were several of his siblings. Mrs. Stokes had her camera at the ready, and immediately began snapping off photos as Nick came out dressed in crimson red robes, cowboy boots showing as he walked. A wide grin was plastered across his face as he strode in the direction of his seat. As the last students filed in, the chords of the school song faded out and the Dean took his place. 

The ceremony went by quickly, each speaker coming up and saying his or her piece, and then the graduates were being called up one by one, shaking their Dean’s hand as they accepted the rolled diploma, switching their tassels over and returning to their seats. As Nick was called, Grissom joined in the applause from friends and family, his older brother jumping to his feet and whooping loudly. Nick’s grin looked painfully wide. Before they knew it, the last student was being called and the Dean was giving his final farewells, and then the room was a flood of flying crimson hats and triumphant roars as the graduates celebrated their grand finale. Nick was soon lost from Grissom’s view, the crowd of families and well-wishers descending upon the former students. The entomologist hung back. Nick knew he was there, he’d find him in his own time. 

Grissom lost himself to his people watching, excited parents hugging their children, sororities and fraternities offering final secret handshakes and tearful goodbyes as they all promised to keep in touch. The students with no one or who just didn’t care to stay were escaping through back doors with the plans to party till they couldn’t see straight anymore. Grissom remembered his college Graduation. His mother had sat front row, a family friend agreeing to interpret for her. The smile on her face when Grissom had walked across that stage and accepted his diploma could have outshone the sun, and he couldn’t have been more glad that he’d made her proud. He was still lost in those memories when something covered his eyes. 

“Guess who,” a voice whispered in his ear, accent thick and making his hair stand at attention. He smiled. “Hard to tell, the maximum capacity in this auditorium is well over two thousand, it could be anyone.” There was a snort, then the warm hands were removed from his eyes and he was blinking in the suddenly bright auditorium, finding himself with a lap full of crimson robed Texan. “Where are your parents?” he asked, looking around as a flush threatened to make an appearance with Nick’s public display. “They had to head on back, dad’s needed in court tomorrow so they’re hitting the road. Mom was wondering where you were, though.” Grissom had met the Judge and Mrs. Stokes about two months back when Nick had dragged him home for a weekend. They were open and welcoming, Nick having introduced him as a friend and future supervisor. Neither had felt it prudent just yet to make known their relationship. 

Grissom shifted the weight of the other man on his lap. “So why is it exactly that you seem to have decided I’d be your new chair?” Nick’s grin turned impish. “All the better to see you with, my doc…” Leaning up, he pressed his lips to the older man’s in a quick but promising kiss. “Let’s take this back to your place…” he murmured against the older man’s lips before climbing off him and extending a hand. “C’mon, doc. I’ve just graduated, so let’s celebrate!” When Grissom made no immediate move to get up and follow, Nick offered a playful pout before grabbing a hand and physically pulling the entomologist to his feet.

**\-----**

Grissom lay on his back, one hand tracing up and down a sweat damp and sleep warmed spine, the body attached to it curled into his side dozing lightly. His young lover had managed to keep his hands mostly to himself during the drive back to Grissom’s townhouse, but as soon as the front door had closed behind them a pair of lips had latched onto Grissom’s neck and nimble fingers were undoing the buttons of his shirt. Clothing was divested as they stumbled their way down the hall, leaving a trail in their wake until they were falling into bed, the feel of warm skin on warm skin like a drug high. They made love slowly, despite the eagerness to get naked and into bed, bodies sliding in a natural rhythm that only came from two people who knew each other down to the very soul. Nick had been the first to come, back arched under Grissom as the older man worked him through the orgasm, his tanned face wide open in pleasure. It had been enough to send Grissom tumbling after him, chests painted in white as he collapsed to the bed beside his lover, unable to move for a minute despite the itch of their lovemaking drying between them. 

Nick had been the first to regain use of his limbs, stumbling almost drunkenly into the bathroom only to return clean and with a damp cloth for Grissom. He’d cleaned the older man quickly but efficiently, leaving a trail of kisses across clean skin until Grissom, unable to stand the sensation, had grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down onto the bed to join him. After a few traded kisses, Nick had dozed off but Grissom had remained wide awake, thinking about how lucky he was. It was far from the second time they’d made love since that first night in the hotel. Ever since the closure of the Howard/Blayne case, the two had seen a lot of each other, often meeting for lunch or dinner, Nick swinging by whenever work prevented Grissom from getting away and bringing takeout for the two. The younger man had become a solid fixture at the crime lab whenever he wasn’t in class or at work. 

“Gris, stop thinkin’ so loud… tryin’ to sleep here…” the soft murmur broke Grissom out of the memories and he smiled, turning to lay a kiss into sex-mussed locks. “Sorry, Nicky…” he rumbled. “Go back to sleep, you’ve got a busy day tomorrow.” The younger man  _ hmmed _ , already drifting off again as he burrowed himself further into Grissom’s side. Nick had been interning for his degree for the last several months, and tomorrow afternoon he had an interview for a job at the crime lab. Instead of spending his nights dancing, he’d be spending them working in the crime lab and following the rest of them out to cases. Neither man could wait.

  
  


~END~

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: I enjoyed writing this and I'll admit I've probably re-read it a couple dozen times since I finished it, and I hope you lovely readers enjoyed it too! Kudos and comments are always welcome in this topsy-turvy time!  
> Stay Safe, Stay Healthy!!!  
> xoxo HidingintheInkwell

**Author's Note:**

> I enjoyed writing this and I'll admit I've probably re-read it a couple dozen times since I finished it, and I hope you lovely readers enjoyed it too! Kudos and comments are always welcome in this topsy-turvy time!  
> Stay Safe, Stay Healthy!!!  
> xoxo HidingintheInkwell


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